


The Road to Hell

by HollyDB, Kimmie_Winchester



Series: The Disco Chronicles [5]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Saved By the Bell (TV), Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Multiple Crossovers, Non-Explicit Sex, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 15:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 101
Words: 449,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyDB/pseuds/HollyDB, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmie_Winchester/pseuds/Kimmie_Winchester
Summary: Faith sacrificed herself to save the girl she thinks of like a sister, but Chuck had other ideas and sends her barreling back to earth...in the back of an Impala. As Faith navigates being alive again, she begins a friends-with-benefits hookup with Dean Winchester that quickly becomes something neither of them expected. Meanwhile, a new demon bar in Lebanon has a previously dormant Hellmouth acting up again. Lucifer tricks an emotionally distraught Willow into opening it, and the only thing that can close it is Slayer blood. Buffy's a vampire now, so surely her blood won't work, and Spike's determined to make sure she doesn't have reason to think otherwise.In terms of Buffy fandom, this is a continuation of an extremely unofficial sequel toHarbingers of Beatrice. Includes OCs from that story.Continuity with previous installments is something we strive for but do not guarantee





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See introductory note [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19560574/chapters/46466893).

“You’ve got to be joking,” Buffy said as she hopped out the passenger side and shut the door. “This is a joke, right?”

“I highly doubt it,” Spike drawled, grabbing a cigarette from his duster pocket the moment he closed the driver’s door.

Moments later, the Impala pulled up in the unpaved parking lot. “You’re shitting me, right?” Dawn laughed as she got out the passenger front.

“Right?” her big sister returned in kind.

“Wow,” Sam said as he exited the car. His boots crunched as he came up next to Dawn. “He went full pun. Full, terrible pun.”

“Dudes!” Dean said, hopping out the car and pointing his phone to the building. “That’s fucking awesome!”

Everyone blinked first to the hunter and then to the neon red sign for ‘Rosa Lee’s Cantina.’

“Did you know your brother was so lame?” Dawn asked Sam by tilting her head upward with a smile.

“In my defense, yes I did.”

“It’s a bar!” Dean said defensively. “They’re supposed to have bad names. The Alibi, Nowhere, The Drunken Monkey, The Pour House… Seriously, it’s genius.”

“Not the adjective I’d use,” Buffy muttered under her breath and they began to follow Dean as he practically skipped to the door.

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Dawn asked her sister.

Buffy cracked a smile. If Dean had been in earshot, he would have protested the nickname Spike had dubbed every time Mary and Giles were together. As far as she could tell, the two just seemed to get along and enjoy going out on a hunt. Dean was comically defensive in anything related to his mother. The first month had been nearly unbearable on everyone once Spike had learned Mary and Ketch had once been intimate.

“Dad texted they were finishing up that shapeshifter down in Amarillo. He promised to get back before opening night.”

“Sam found a case earlier,” Dawn said in quieter tone. “He really thinks it’s one Rosalie should take, but isn’t sure if it’ll be wrapped up by the end of the week.”

“Hmm…maybe Spike and I could take it.”

“Don’t know if we should leave her and Cas running the show in the superhuman department on opening weekend.”

“It’s Bum Fuck Kansas, Dawnie. News travels fast, but I can’t imagine a full demon extravaganza from the get-go.”

Dawn shrugged as they crossed the threshold. It wasn’t posh by any stretch of the imagination. Truthfully she remembered the Bronze having a more modern setup. Since it was an abandoned dive bar, it still had the same feel. Lorne had given it a flashy touch up by adding a stage with a complete band of instruments set up and ready for live music. The lighting and sound systems around the stage and dance area also looked brand new.

All in all, Buffy was impressed. Two months hadn’t been long to find a spot, get it bought, licensed and stocked. She’d heard countless complaints from Rosalie about how little she and Hunter had been able to be together between her constant training and his constant working.

It actually made the bar name pretty romantic. Totally lame. But really sweet that he was doing all this just for her to have a way to slay without having to travel all the time.

“I want a blood beer!” Spike called out to the empty room as he took a drag on his smoke. “AB positive!”

“Stop it,” Buffy snickered.

“Sorry, sexy pants,” Lorne drawled as he stepped in from the door behind the bar. “Haven’t gotten the human juice in yet. We have pig, goat, dog, and kitten.”

“No!” Dawn said in horror.

“Kitten?” Sam looked queasy.

“How old is the dog?” Spike asked without blinking an eye. “Breed?”

Dean made a gagging noise. “You’re serious?”

Lorne shrugged. “This ain’t no Applebee’s. Demon bars take all kinds of kinds.” He turned his focus to Spike. “My guy said labradoodle. Full grown.”

“Kitten beer for me and my lady.”

“Nope,” Buffy said emphatically. “Just give me pig. Nothing cute and fluffy that I asked my mom for as a child.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t go in the back,” Rosalie said in lieu of greeting as she came out the same door behind the bar. “There’s a pet shop back there and it’s freaky to think that things actually pay to eat hamsters and bunnies.”

“You used to play with them, Rosie Posey,” Lorne pointed out.

“Because I thought you had pets! I didn’t know I was playing with the appetizer menu!”

“Any remaining innocence in my life has been completely destroyed,” Hunter said from the front threshold of the bar. He held the door as Rowena strolled past.

“There’s the part that thought the name was a good idea,” Rowena muttered as she walked over to give Lorne a kiss on the cheek.

“Stop!” Lorne cackled as he kissed her in kind. “It’s sweet and romantic and quirky enough to catch on.”

“The Pour House,” Dean said.

“Tequila Mockingbird,” Lorne countered.

“Brews Brothers.”

“Dick’s Halfway Inn.”

“Dude! Where’s that one?”

“Rosedale, Maryland. There’s a place that makes the best lobster rolls down the street.”

“We get it!” Buffy cried. “Hunter comes from a long line of lame-ass bar owners.”

“Oi!” the man in question responded. “Rose and Lorne like it!”

“One of those two gets their happies from you,” Dawn teased.

“Don’t forget about Rosie,” Lorne added with a wink.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Think I’m ready for a beer.”

“Watchers drink free,” Hunter said as he went behind the bar.

“What about me?” Dean asked.

“Three dollars a bottle.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh I forgot!”

“Yeah?”

“Slayers drink free as well. Buffy, dear?”

“Fuck you,” Dean grumbled as he pulled out his wallet.

“As fun as watching the Winchester boys drink…again,” Rowena said with an eye roll. “I thought this was a test of the warding I constructed.”

“Right,” Hunter agreed as he popped the top off a bottle and slid it to Sam. “Rowena has replicated the enchantments Lorne used on Caritas.”

“The Furies did _not _want to schlep it out to Kansas. And my pocketbook didn’t want to try and persuade them,” the green demon said as he took post on one of the stools around the bar.

“Didn’t realize Rowena was the new Glenda,” Dean said tossing down three singles and snatching the beer Sam had yet to pick up.

“I did it for the money, you idiot.” She paused and gave Lorne a disturbingly sweet smile. “And the company.”

“Anyone else want to move on before that thought can develop?” Dawn asked. “Great. Good.” She looked to Sam. “So warding, huh? Please ask questions.”

He laughed as he pulled out his wallet. Nodding to Hunter, he paid for two beers, handing one to Dawn. “How exactly are we testing it?”

“Well,” Lorne said slowly. “The only real way is to try and break the rules. Since no violence is allowed, someone has to really try and get violent.”

“Sweet!” Dean said smacking his bottle down on the bar. “I’m in.”

Spike chuckled, tossing his cigarette down on the ground and slipping off his leather duster, handing it to his wife. “Any chance this doesn’t work is worth it.”

“Hey, punk!” Rosalie snapped. “Nick and I mopped this floor!”

Spike favored his niece with a condescending smile. “Sweets, this is prettiest this floor is gonna look. If all goes my way, Dean’s teeth will be next.”

“Nice try, Billy Idol. Pretty sure I still owe you a few blows for Mississippi.”

Spike rolled his eyes and cracked his knuckles. “And I still owe you for snagging my Doritos last week.”

“If you’re not prepared to share, don’t leave it in the weapons room.”

“It was implied I was finishing them when I got back! Everyone fancies an after slay snack!”

Rowena cleared her throat in aggravation. “Either attack each other or make out. At this point I don’t care which.”

Both took up the challenge and ran toward each other at full pace. Just as contact would have been made a previously invisible force field glowed brightly and both men were catapulted back in the direction they had come by several feet, landing on their asses.

“Brilliant!” Hunter sniggered as he and Lorne walked over to the area the warding took effect.

“You didn’t mention the reverb,” Dean grumbled as he scrambled to his feet.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed darkly as he took the hand Buffy offered and popped back to standing. “That seems unnecessary.”

“Helps diffuse the situation,” Lorne said with a shrug. He turned to Rowena. “Humans and demons are a go.”

“And slayers?” Sam questioned.

Lorne gave him a quizzical look. “One’s human and the other demon. Think the bases are covered.”

“Better check,” Hunter said before quickly adding, “Just in case.”

“Nuh uh,” Buffy said shaking her head. “Nice try, but I don’t want to look stupid, too.”

“I did not look stupid,” Spike pouted.

“Good,” Rosalie said stepping forward. “Because I say you pick up that butt or I kick yours.”

Spike cocked his head and gave a dramatic sigh. “Little Bit, even on your best day, in a room full of sunshine, you could never kick my—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Rosalie ran at him and leapt in the air, aiming her kick directly at his chest. Upon contact, the vampire went flying into the wall, causing a hanging picture to come shattering to the floor.

“Fucking A!” Dean shouted.

“Bloody hell!” Spike groaned as he remained slumped against the wall, having slid to the floor with his feet in front of him.

Buffy swirled around just in time to watch Hunter hand some bills to the witch, who promptly stuffed them in her bra. “You cheated!” She howled, pointing her finger squarely at the pair.

Neither one looked ashamed enough to deny it. “I gave you a chance,” Hunter said cheekily.

“Not cool!” Lorne said as he turned to scowl at the dynamic duo.

“I dunno,” Rosalie chirped as she walked over and planted a smack on Hunter’s lips. “I thought it was pretty awesome.”

“Rosie Posey, I’m disappointed!” Lorne admonished.

As Lorne forced Rowena to perform the enchantment to keep slayers from partaking in violence within the perimeter, Spike got up and marched over to the young offenders. “I can kill you in your sleep.”

Rosalie batted her eyelashes and gave him an innocent smile. “You know you love me, Uncle Spike.”

“Fine. I can kill _him _in his sleep.”

“Killing him would make me sad, Uncle Spike.”

“Well, we all have disappointments in life, you cheeky little minx.”

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a big smooch on the cheek. Then she whispered, “Now pick your trash up off my floor.”

*~*~*

Sam didn’t bother looking at the clock when he heard Oz cry through the baby monitor. Throwing back the covers, he crawled from bed and trotted next door. He didn’t even react when he saw a colorful assortment of balloons floating above the crib. “One morning I would appreciate it if you could sleep in,” he grumbled.

Oz did not like this response. The balloons began bursting as he let out an angry cry, the blasts thoroughly ruining any chance Sam had at going back to bed after feeding time. With a sigh of defeat, he snatched up his little wizard and started for the kitchen.

“Was that gunshots?” Donna asked breathlessly as she swung open her bedroom door.

“Balloons today,” Sam explained. Hermione had said the constant bursts of magic would fade over time, but so far a cranky wizard of Oz was still a PR nightmare.

“No monkeys?” Donna asked hesitantly.

“No monkeys,” he reassured as he headed toward the stairs.

He heard the TV and wasn’t surprised to see the two guys already sipping coffee and watching the morning news. Five in California meant DC was already at work.

“Was that gunshots?” Toby asked without looking up from the screen.

“Balloons,” Sam repeated.

Josh did look up and gave him a concerned look. “Monkeys?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No monkeys!”

“Hey! You didn’t have one of those things sitting on your face!”

“One pooped in my shoe,” Sam reminded as he walked on to the kitchen.

Yes, the last couple months had been a whole world of change. Playing dad while also trying to run the largest state in the union already felt like a circus without his son adding balloons and primates to the mix.

Donna had first agreed to come stay with him in Sacramento. Not only was she an underrated political genius, but she also was able to help with Oz when no nanny or other staff member really could. Considering she was also dealing with a baby, it was the ideal situation for both of them.

Josh had been different. Even after everything, he wasn’t very keen on repairing the damage between them. It had been easy to thrust the blame on him, though Sam eventually realized that Josh had really done the best he could with the hand he was dealt.

Donna asked if he could stay the night about a month after relocating to governor’s mansion. He came over once and never left. Sam had too much on his plate to put up a fight.

Coming back to Sacramento with a broken heart, baby boy and a barrage of paparazzi photos depicting him in a fight with a guy outside a Los Angeles restaurant had been unbelievably hard. Telling his staff that he was definitely not going to run for president had physically hurt. He seriously contemplated resignation the first few days, but through lots of loving words of support from Donna and Hermione, he decided that staying governor was the safest choice for him, Oz and Willow.

On the condition he gave a public interview to clear the air.

Which he did. Much to Donna’s dismay, he didn’t sit down with Oprah. That woman wouldn’t make him cry. Instead he sat with Anderson Cooper, who much to his ego’s disappointment, still make him shed a few tears.

It started out pretty factual. He and a woman named Willow had entered a brief, consensual and monogamous relationship. After a time, she returned to her professional career and he returned to him. Several months later they reconnected and she told him that he was the father of her unborn child.

He’d done a pretty solid job in his opinion of emphasizing that there was no ill will toward her for not disclosing the pregnancy. He told the world he had found it admirable that a strong, career focused woman felt no necessity to depend on anyone to take care of her or her child. But he had asked if he could take on a parenting role and she had agreed.

Then he’d had to lie. Not simply for the fact that the truth was fucking crazy, but also because according to MACUSA, Sam’s mind had been altered. He’d told Anderson and the world that Willow had fallen ill shortly after giving birth, rendering her incapable of caring for Samuel Osborne Seaborn. Battling an extremely rare autoimmune condition, she had been forced to travel to Asia for treatment. While he hoped Willow would one day be able to help raise Oz with him, currently he hadn’t spoken to her since a few days after Oz’s birth.

The masses had bought it. Initially his national poll numbers soured. That’s when Toby reached out to him. While his mentor hadn’t been able to convince him to run for president, he had persuaded him to allow him to come to California and head up his re-election campaign for governor.

Truthfully, he had seen Willow quite a bit over the past couple months. Hermione had established a secret stop in the Floo Network that connected to the governor’s mansion. This had allowed Willow the chance to come in to visit and care for Oz.

It had been awkward though. Any talk of their future together had ended that fateful day in the Hyperion. Since then, seeing her was pretty painful. Not just because she had broken his heart, but because he could tell how unhappy and unhealthy she was. She seemed a shell of her former self, unable to come to grips with the information she’d learned about her past.

Sam knew he couldn’t help her, so instead he focused on helping their son and their state be as safe and healthy as possible.

After mixing up the formula and heating it exactly twenty-three seconds in the microwave, he nestled Oz in his left arm and propped the bottle perfectly against his chest. Then, he reached gingerly for a mug and poured a cup of coffee before gracefully walking back to the living room in a dance of multitasking he had learned to perfect.

“This is your fault,” Toby growled as he gestured to the television.

“Hoynes announced his candidacy,” Josh explained.

“Pretty sure he’s on you,” Sam said sitting down and taking a gulp of caffeine.

“If you were running, we wouldn’t have the rejected repeat trying again,” Toby said.

Sam sat his cup down and repositioned the bottle. “And if Josh hadn’t done so well the first time, he never would have been Bartlet’s VP. See how I can spin it? I went to school too.”

“Shut up,” Toby responded as the other two quietly smirked at each other. “Do you need me to write your speech for the DNC fundraiser or not?”

“The day I need you to write my speech is the day I retire.” He paused. “But yeah, I don’t have time with the budget meetings this week. Where is it anyway?”

Toby leaned over and grabbed his laptop. “Los Angeles.”

Sam’s blood went cold. He hadn’t been there since…

“Phone it in,” Josh said quickly. “Tell them you wanna stay near home base until appropriations are finalized. Send in the lieutenant and call it a thing.”

“This is a fucking Hollywood fundraiser, Josh. You think Spielberg and Howard are going to be satisfied with a guy nobody recognizes? They want Sam.”

“He’s right,” Sam responded softly. “If I back out, it also raises unneeded questions.” He looked to Josh. “You and Donna can stay here with Oz. I go down, act like everything’s normal and pop back the next morning. Nobody questions a thing and we all go back to business as usual.”

Josh looked petrified. “MACUSA and Wolfram and Hart are based there!”

Sam looked down at Oz, just as nervous as Josh. “Both think my mind was altered. They don’t even know I know they exist. As long as I can act like I don’t know that I know they know…well, you know.”

Toby stood up with his laptop and coffee mug. “Just so you know, we know you better not blow this.”

Sam couldn’t even smile at the pleonasm. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

They wouldn’t admit it in a thousand years, but Buffy had spent enough time around Spike to know when he was in the process of making a new friend. Particularly a male friend. While he and Dean had gotten off to what could only be called a terrible start, they were on the fast track to becoming actual buddies. Which was good, especially given Zack’s absence from their daily lives at the present—something that bothered Spike more than he’d ever let on.

In the world before, Spike hadn’t had friends. It hadn’t been until he’d come to Los Angeles to rescue her from Wolfram and Hart that he’d found people who treated him like something other than a demon, particularly when he’d befriended Zack Wright. Those connections to others were among the things that kept him grounded. It was one of the reasons she’d been so keen to spend as much time in Los Angeles as possible in the early stages of their relationship—he’d had something there that, love her friends as she did, he’d never gotten at home.

Right now, Spike was regaling a captivated Dean with stories from his days with the original Rat Pack, particularly a tale where he’d taken a swing at Frank Sinatra after the legendary singer had made a pass at Dru.

“You fucking _hit _Ol’ Blue Eyes?”

“’Course I did. Gave him a nasty shiner, too, if memory serves,” Spike said after throwing back a gulp of his third blood beer. “Held back a bit, though, seeing as I didn’t want to break the boy. He had a gig the next night and, tosser or not, I wasn’t about to miss it.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied, looking a bit star-struck. “What about Bogie? Ever take a swing at him?”

“No, but he did bum a smoke off me one time in Vegas.” He grinned and wedged a cigarette between his lips. “Think that was the same weekend I had to talk Dru outta vamping Judy Garland. She was keen on _The Wizard of Oz_ and was sour that little Dorothy had grown up. Won’t lie—the lady was a bit cross with me after Garland kicked it, went on for weeks about how she coulda saved her.”

Buffy, who had heard these stories a time or twelve hundred, turned her attention to Sam, who was parked at the yet-to-be-opened bar, thumbing through the latest tome that Quentin Travers had sent him. While not training Rosalie, doing his own case-related research, or going on the hunt, Sam had been reading the old Watcher’s Diaries with dedication and fervor that made Giles proud. Giles had been a bit wary of Sam Winchester as a watcher when he’d first arrived, and could occasionally be caught grumbling about standards and protocols and all the training he’d had to go through before being awarded the position. But Sam’s steadfast sense of right and wrong, combined with his work ethic and devotion to the job, had won her curmudgeonly watcher over rather quickly.

“So what’s this case you want Rosalie on?” she asked. “Dawn mentioned that you were concerned you might miss opening weekend if you took it.”

It would have been impossible to detect were she anything but a vampire, but since she _was_ a vampire, Buffy was intensely aware of how Sam’s heartbeat sped up whenever someone mentioned her sister. She also heard his blood pound harder, which in turn made his cheeks darken just a shade. She had yet to mention this to Spike, who had only recently stopped jumping out at Hunter every time he saw the opportunity, but it was only a matter of time before her mate clued in that Sam Winchester had a crush on his Nibblet. Dawnie was in her mid-twenties now, though, and had already gone through her share of heartache. Of all the guys Buffy could have chosen for her sister, Sam was probably at the top of the list.

Only Dawn didn’t seem to react to Sam the same way. Or she was just better at masking her physical reactions whenever in the presence of vampires. She’d certainly had more practice.

“The Heart of the Dragon,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “Dean and I ran into this a few years ago and we thought we’d banished him.”

“Him?”

“The spirit of Yoshio Nakadai, a Ronin warrior. He was framed and executed, then his spirit was converted into a demon. We released his spirit and sent the demon back to Hell back in ’09, and that should’ve been the end of it, but…”

“The dead don’t stay dead.” Buffy spread her arms. “I’m walking proof.”

“Right. This demon’s a bit different than the others she’s faced. He’s immune to exorcism, for one thing, and Devil’s Traps don’t hold him for long.” Sam paused and glanced at Rosalie. “He was a hard guy to get rid of last time. I think he’d give her a good challenge, but… I don’t want her to miss this. How did you balance life and slaying?”

Buffy snorted. “I died, Sam.”

“Well, let’s try to find another way.” He blew out a breath. “Might be better if Dean and I handle it on our own, anyway. This demon can snap necks telekinetically. Not sure if it’s a good idea for Rosalie to be around that, anyway. She’s a bit, uhh…”

“Headstrong?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Spike and I can handle it, you know. While snapped necks aren’t exactly my favorite injury to walk off, it takes more than that to kill us.”

“He can also control fire, though.”

“Yeah, and we have these.” Buffy lifted her hand to show off her ring. The same she’d vowed to never remove ever again, particularly after the revelation of a couple of months ago—that the rings, in addition to rendering her invulnerable, protected her mind from magical manipulation. “Really, this is the kinda date Spike and I enjoy the most.”

Sam stared at her for a moment before breaking off with a laugh, the sort that made the premature signs of aging that marred his otherwise handsome face dissolve. “You two are a weird couple.”

“We like what we like,” Buffy replied, shrugging. “Took me long enough to admit that I find fighting a lot of fun. Especially those that present a challenge.” She nodded at Rosalie. “She has a leg up on me, there. Learned to like the hunt well before she was called.”

He considered this for a moment then inclined his head. “Well, if you and Spike wanna handle it, feel free. Between me, Dean, Cas, and Dawn”—more of that flushing—“we should be able to keep the peace if things get out of control. There’ll be other odd-duck demons.”

“Honestly, I don’t see this taking more than a day. We’ll be back in time to be your impromptu bouncers.”

Sam arched an eyebrow and snickered. “Overconfident much?”

“Realistic much,” Buffy replied sweetly. “Seriously, Sam, you’ve seen us in action. Stop being surprised by how much ass we kick. I know you and Dean are used to failing and dying a lot, but that’s really not the way we roll.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but smirked. “Fair enough.”

*~*~*

_Friday_

The jellyfish tree, native to the Mahe Island of the Seychelles, was critically endangered. Fewer than ninety species were thought to be thriving in the wild. In terms of hard-to-come-by ingredients, you didn’t get much more exotic than that.

And Willow needed seeds from the fruit of three different jellyfish trees to complete her spell. Just three little seeds separating her from unlocking the memories she’d erased from her mind—from her friends’ collective history. And she had it on good authority that MACUSA’s Director of Herbology kept samples of endangered nonmagical plants in his office. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps the man was another Arthur Weasley and collecting NoMaj plant species was his way of exploring his fetish. All she knew was she had a good chance of completing the spell if she could get five minutes alone in Roger Snitch’s office.

And that in order to get those five minutes, she’d have to take advantage of Percy. Worse, Hermione. The one person who had kept her grounded over the past two months, who had supported her unflinchingly as Willow had navigated the space of trying to accept the things she’d learned about herself.

Not that the others hadn’t been helpful—they had. Harry more so than Ron, and Ginny more so than Harry, if only because she tended not to hedge her words as Harry did. But being that Hermione had been the one who had broken the news that had broken her soul, she’d become Willow’s most vocal champion. She was also the one who helped ensure Willow didn’t go more than a few days without seeing her son, even if being around Sam Seaborn—even just breathing his air—made her hurt in ways she hadn’t known she could.

At first, Willow had thought she’d be able to find her way back to some semblance of normal. The revelations that had hit her that day at the Hyperion, just hours after she and Sam had made optimistic plans to try to co-parent their child, had been tough to swallow but she could swallow them. She’d wanted to desperately. She’d chased the version of herself that thought she could be in a real couple, but every time she thought she had a handle on what had transpired, she’d think of Tara and some part of her—the part she’d buried under layers of magic manipulation—would scream.

The things she recalled about Tara were foggy even now. A reflection, Hermione had suggested, of the sloppiness of the original spell. A thing pieced together from bits and fragments of whatever dark magic she’d been able to get her hands on. And given how grief-stricken Willow had been at the time, she likely hadn’t done a very thorough job of casting. So her Frankensteined-spell had been poorly executed, which was why so much of it had seeped through the cracks in her mind over the years. Why Tara’s face had haunted her—just her face at first, and then her name. And then this idea, this feeling, that there had been something there. Something that went beyond life-changing—life-defining.

And she needed to know what it was. Desperately.

Willow wasn’t stupid, though. She knew whatever she discovered would be painful, but the not knowing was almost worse. If she’d never been able to cement her feelings about who Tara had been to her, if Tara had remained a question mark, a _what-if_, she might have been able to move on. At the time, Willow hadn’t thought getting an answer about that period of her life had been possible—either that or she’d been too chicken-shit to try. Blaming Wolfram and Hart had been easy, too. There was no sense detangling that mystical mess because, evil lawyers were behind it and what did the past really matter anyway?

A lot, as it turned out. It was one thing believing that something had been done to you—it was another thing altogether, discovering you’d done something to yourself. Whether or not she remembered the years she’d erased from her own timeline, they had helped shape her into who she was today. And Willow needed to know that person. If she was going to ever be a proper mother to Oz, she had to know absolutely everything about herself.

“It’s important that we are punctual, Willow,” Percy said when she joined him by the fireplace. She’d almost forgotten that he was there—unlike his siblings, Percy tended to contain his anxiety. A byproduct of the Second Wizarding War, Ron had told her once. More specifically, losing Fred. Fred had been joyous that Percy had cracked a joke, and that distraction had cost him his life. The lesson Percy had learned had, apparently, been that any outward emoting was bad—that he’d been estranged from his family up until Fred’s death likely didn’t help matters.

Most of the time, Willow didn’t mind Percy. Today, though, his clipped, no-nonsense attitude made her want to knock him square in the nose.

But that would have been telling, so she didn’t.

“I’m ready,” Willow said, turning her attention instead to her business suit, looking for rogue wrinkles. Unlike the British Magical population, American witches and wizards dressed to blend. Hermione had told her to select today’s outfit based on what she thought would be suitable for attending a colleague’s funeral. Somber and serious, yet not overly flashy.

“I needn’t impress upon you how important it is that this meeting go well,” Percy went on, helping himself to a pinch of Floo Powder. “It has taken Hermione weeks to—”

“Perce, these are all things I know. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Somehow, she managed not to wiggle too much at the lie.

Once she was inside the MACUSA headquarters, it was just a matter of finding Roger Snitch’s office for those last ingredients.

Hopefully by this time tomorrow, the hazy corners of her mind would be clear and she could finally, _finally_, look to getting on with her life. With her son.

And maybe even with Sam.

*~*~*

Much to Sam’s chagrin, it turned out that Buffy was right. She and Spike handled the Heart of the Dragon in the span of about ninety minutes, though the description of the hunt tended to get taller every time Spike told it. The first time, also known as the real time, had been pretty impressive already. The demon had tried to light them both on fire, and like the Mother of Dragons herself, they had both walked through that stuff. Then the demon had tried to snap their necks—he’d been successful with Spike, who had popped it back into place with a growl.

Buffy and Spike were novices to banishing spirits and performing exorcisms, and they were a bit shaky on how either would work seeing as they were technically both demons, themselves. Since Buffy had the soul between them, she’d volunteered to give it a try, despite Spike’s protests. But the ring had kept her immune from the holy water and—they’d discovered—the Devil’s Trap. Or at least that was their best guess, as Buffy had discovered that the same could not be said for Spike.

“Do you have you any idea how much _work _this would’ve saved me when I was a teenager?” Buffy had asked the day that Sam had shown her how to draw a Devil’s Trap. “At least two apocalypses could have been avoided altogether.”

After capturing the Heart of the Dragon, Buffy had managed to banish the spirit and send the demon to Hell. And given the increasingly explicit innuendos they’d subjected the others to after returning home victorious, she hadn’t been lying. She and Spike really did consider monster hunting a good time. Toward the end of the night, they had started recreating the highlights of the hunt on each other, which had culminated in Spike throwing Buffy over his shoulder and marching off to their room, where the crashing sounds had lasted until the wee hours of the morning.

As such, Buffy had been indisposed when Sam had heard back from a local contact on a matter that interested them both—the great-grandnephew of a slayer from generations past had claimed to have special insight regarding the bracelet that had consumed Faith’s power more than two months prior. It was likely a dud, as every other lead regarding the bracelet had been, but given the big vat of nothing he’d been able to uncover over the past few weeks, he didn’t feel like he had the luxury of turning it down. Which was how he ended up recruiting Dean—not Dawn, because he couldn’t quite stand the knowing looks Dean sent his way any time he so much as acknowledged Dawn existed—to coming with him.

Which reminded him, again, that he wanted to ask her about the whole inter-dimensional key thing. Somehow he hadn’t had time over the past two months. Also, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. The one and only time there had been any mention of it had been during that introductory-meeting-from-hell with Travers. Buffy had been adamant that Dawn was safe, mystical origin or not, and that had been enough for him. The next few weeks had been a race of initiation, training, and trying to keep the new residents of the bunker from killing each other. There had been more immediate concerns than learning what Dawn was—or wasn’t.

“So tell me who we’re going to see again,” Dean said, taking a particularly sharp turn with ease that Sam figured he’d never master, no matter how long they lived here. “This old slayer relation?”

“A great-grandnephew,” he said. “To Melanie Bulstrod, who was active between 1941 and 1943. According to the Watcher’s Diaries, she is the reason we’re not all speaking German.”

“Yeah, but did she kill Hitler?”

“No, Dean. She did not kill Hitler.”

“Just as long as we know who’s more impressive.”

“Well, I—”

An explosion of white cut off whatever he’d been about to say. Dean swore loudly, the Impala giving a wild lurch as the road ahead of them vanished. Tires squealed and a horn from a nearby car tore through the air, followed by the muffled sound of someone screaming. Then something crashed hard in the backseat, hard enough to make the car rock.

“What the _fuck?”_ a woman rasped, breathing hard.

A woman?

“What the fuck?” Dean echoed.

It seemed like it lasted forever, but eventually, the white flooding Sam’s eyes faded and he could see again. He glanced to Dean, who was twisted in his seat, staring slack-jawed at something in the back.

Sam looked first to the rearview mirror, but whirled around to verify what his eyes were telling him.

Yeah, there was a naked chick in the backseat.

And she looked pissed.

The chick glared at them for a moment like they had done something wrong. Then she looked down as though only just realizing that she was sans clothing.

“Oh, fuck this.”

That much seemed to jerk Dean out of his stupor. “Who—”

But before he could bark out the question, the air split with the crack of shattering glass. Had Sam not been watching, had he not seen it, he never would have believed it. He knew intimately how hard it was to punch out a car’s windows. Any car’s.

This girl managed it with one well-aimed kick. Then she was moving, sliding over shards of broken glass and launching herself onto the street. And Sam, stunned stupid, could do nothing but stare. Even as Dean started screaming at him, at the road, at anything that would hear him. Sam couldn’t move.

That was until his gaze fell on the thing lying among the shattered glass in the back.

The velvet bag in which he kept the bracelet—or what was left of it. It looked like something had burst from the inside out. And the bracelet itself was gone.

“Oh my god,” Sam said to himself. “Dean…”

“Welcome back, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “What the _hell _was that?”

“I’m pretty sure that was…Faith.”

“Faith? _Faith? _How the fuck was that Faith?”

But Sam didn’t have an answer.

“Call Nick,” he said instead, his voice thick. “Think Rosa Lee’s grand opening might need to wait a week.”


	3. Chapter 3

The world seemed to stop in an instant. He couldn’t hear or think or move. Somewhere in the far corner of his mind Nick could hear Dean’s voice through the phone still placed at his ear.

Faith is alive.

Reality had changed in a moment and two months of grief and mourning and pain suddenly were a nightmare.

Unless this was just a dream and he was going to wake up and have to face losing his best friend all over again.

He didn’t think he could handle it. Not today. Not after all the work he’d done over the past two months to try and make peace with the past. To make a fresh break from all the darkness he’d buried inside himself since a child and try for a future with Rosalie.

Faith is alive.

“Where?” He croaked. He hadn’t noticed the tears. The way his body was shaking. Part of him was expecting to wake up in a cold sweat with Rosalie giving him a knowing look. Just another dream.

“Not far,” Dean answered. “Like I said, we were heading south on 181. Just outside Downs. She busted the window and ran before we could stop her.”

“I’m on my way. Find her.” He ended the call and headed to the door.

“Whoa there, pumpkin spice,” Lorne said. “We aren’t done moving these tables into place. We’ve also got to fix that wire on the big speaker. And don’t forget rehearsing your number. You still doing the Beatles?”

Nick almost made it outside before he realized he didn’t have keys. Rosalie had driven this morning. Whirling around, he contemplated going into the back and finding her, but then thought better. No, he didn’t want to get her hopes up on the off chance it was a mistake.

Instead he marched up to Lorne, stuffing his hands unceremoniously into the demon’s front pockets.

“Don’t get me wrong, sugar. You’re hella hot, but I think we both know it’d just be a fling.”

Clasping the metal, he pulled out Lorne’s keys and then ran out the door. He heard shouts. First Lorne and then Rosalie. It didn’t matter. He had to go.

Faith is alive.

Revving up the engine, Nick squealed the tires on the convertible when he hit the road. He didn’t know if they could find her. If she wanted to be found. If she needed him nearly as much as he needed her.

His phone rang. Reaching in his pocket he saw ‘Rose’ on the ID. With a heart full of regret he rejected the call. Tossing his cell in the passenger seat, he hit the gas and put both hands on the wheel.

A couple minutes later the phone rang again. A quick glance told him it was Lorne. He didn’t care. Didn’t care if the guy wanted to pull out of the deal right now. He could pack it all up and head back to L.A. if he’d like. He wasn’t turning around now.

Faith is alive.

There had been a small part of him that knew it was always a possibility. Fuck, the majority of his housemates had literally come back from the dead. And it wasn’t as if she’d left under normal circumstances that night. With no body, it never was clear exactly what had happened to Faith.

But the Powers were cruel. He’d finally gotten his greatest wish: Rosalie’s love. If seemed befitting his life that he would have to lose the only other person he had ever truly opened his heart. Gain the love of your life, but lose your best mate that had helped you find it. He was resigned to being Karma’s bitch.

“Bloody hell!” he growled when the phone rang again. He should have expected Rose not to take a hint. If anything, she probably was more pissed than concerned.

Unknown caller. Rolling his eyes, he ignored it. He didn’t know why though, but his mind told him to pick the phone up and take a closer look.

Downs, Kansas. The call was from Downs. Quickly processing the possibility, he answered the call and pressed the speaker to his ear. “Faith?”

The line was silent except for heavy breathing. Heavy breathing he recognized. “Faith! Can you hear me?”

“How the fuck?”

He veered onto the shoulder as tears blinded his sight. Panicking, he swerved back to the road and crossed the yellow line. “I don’t know! All they said was you were in the backseat. You broke the window and ran. Are you bleeding? Where are you?”

“I didn’t understand half you just said through your blubbering. I meant how the fuck did you know it was me?”

He paused. He could have said something lame like ‘he just did’ or ‘he always knew it would be him,’ but this was Faith. “I don’t know anyone in Downs and that’s where you were when you ran.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Which is weird because none of this makes sense, Nick.”

“Right?” He barked a watery laugh.

She didn’t respond. After several seconds he began to think he’d lost signal. “Faith?”

“Nick?” He heard the fear in her voice for the first time. “Help me.”

*~*~*

“Well, that was the opposite of fun,” Zack said as he slid into the seat and shut the door of the truck.

“C’mon!” His brother replied, starting the engine. “Besides,” Wright said throwing a punch to Zack’s shoulder. “Not only did we get paid, but you got a girl’s number.”

“She’s an eighty year old Japanese lady.”

“Well, I suggest you go back and turn her. You don’t want to wait and see if the next ghost doesn’t give her a stroke.”

“Yuck!” Zack whined, burying his head in his hands.

“Just think. When you’re eighty, Mrs. Nakamura will only just look it. By then she’ll be way past a hundred.”

“God, I hope you get another gay guy.”

“There is nothing wrong with homosexuality, Zackary,” Wright deadpanned.

“I fucking hate you sometimes.”

Wright dissolved into a fit of giggles. “You two could mate!” Tears began to form in the creases of his eyes. “The kids could call her Mommy Grandma!”

“Technically it’s obachan in Japanese.”

Wright paused in his laughter. “How the fuck you know that?”

Zack shrugged. “My friend Jessie took a class in high school. I can also tell you the word for stapler.”

“Whatever. Just makes my point, Little Buddy.” He then resumed his snickering.

The second Wright’s phone rang, Zack reached across the cab and snatched it off the dash. “Saved by the cell,” he murmured as he answered the call.

“Zack?” Cordy asked before he could speak.

“Z Two here. What’s up, Sis?”

“Speaker. Now.”

“Yup,” Zack said without hesitation. He knew by the tone it wasn’t good. He just hoped it was another desperate client with cash.

“What’s up babe?” Wright asked.

“Buffy just called. I guess Sam called Dawn who then called Buffy who then called me because she didn’t know if Rosalie had yet called me or maybe you.”

“Okay,” Wright said in a voice that carried an unspoken warning. “You’ve now mentioned our daughter so you need to get to the point, Cordelia.”

“Faith’s back.”

“Now in English,” Zack responded.

“Faith. Faith Lehane. Faith is alive. She broke out the bracelet and is somewhere near the bunker in Kansas. They don’t know how or why, but she’s back.”

“That’s awesome!” Zack cried.

“Change of plans, baby.” Wright had already turned the trucking into a parking lot and was driving back the direction from which they had just come.

“What are you doing?” Zack asked in a low voice.

“We won’t be home tonight,” Wright told his wife.

“Zack,” Cordelia said through the phone. “Everyone agreed that you and I can’t go to Kansas for a few more months. We can’t give Wolfram and Hart a hint on where she’s at.”

“Excellent point. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Zack—”

“Cordy, if all of a sudden Faith pops up after two months and nobody found a spell to do it, then it means something or someone else is playing with the magic up the next to Rosalie. After they fucking tricked me last time, they aren’t fucking keeping me from being there to protect her again!”

“Okay,” his wife said in defeat. “Just keep an eye out for anyone tailing you. I’m telling everyone but Kelly that you two took a case up in San Francisco.”

“Do I get a vote in this?” Zack asked in annoyance. “Isn’t this kidnapping? It’s worse when you cross state lines, you know.”

“No. You don’t get a vote and feel free to jump out the fucking window. You’re immortal. Tuck and roll and you’ll be fine.”

“Uhh…Cordy? Tell my wife we’re gonna have to postpone the trip to The Shag Shack, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t think I didn’t catch how you are making me tell Kelly what’s going on. Ass-face.” She ended the call on that note.

Zack sighed, leaning back in his seat and tossing Wright’s phone into the space between the two men. “You know this is a bad idea, right?”

“Don’t fucking start, Morris. We both know if it was your Rosie instead of mine that you would do the exact same shit.”

“Yeah. And we both know this smells like a trap. Maybe the plan is this. Maybe WH expects you to make a mad dash and lead them straight to the Slayer. Manipulate you in the opposite direction this time.”

Wright seemed to hesitate at that. For a moment Zack could feel that his brother had eased up on the accelerator. “So?”

Wright took a moment to answer. “So, you’re probably right.”

Zack nodded. “Good.”

“It’s early enough in the day that we’ll make it by nightfall.”

Zack blinked. “No, that’s not the answer of a guy who knows it’s a bad idea. That’s the answer of a dumbass.”

“I’m both. Now get comfy because we aren’t stopping until I gotta fuel this thing up.”

*~*~*

Giles sat up and began searching absently for his glasses on the bedside table. “S-slow down, Buffy.”

“Are you asleep?”

“I would not have answered,” he muttered as he found his spectacles and put them on.

“It’s like mid-morning, Giles. Why would you guys be in bed?”

“We’re not!” He nearly shouted his denial loud enough to be heard in the next room. Mary rolled over and gave him a weary look. “We just finished in Texas last night and have driven all night. Traffic here around Wichita is hectic. Midwesterners do not know how to navigate.” He flashed an apologetic look at the woman lying next to him.

“Okay,” Buffy said, buying his treachery. Reality was that he and Mary had finished in Texas earlier in the week and had spent the last two nights at a Raddison in Wichita. It seemed the easier alternative than trying to explain to their children the fact they were in a currently undefined sexual arrangement.

While inconvenient, it was better than telling Buffy, Dean and Sam that their parents were currently in an open relationship as they explored the possibility of a more serious status. Both had just exited from what Mary labeled ‘poor life choices.’

“I said Faith is back.”

“Back? How did it happen? Did Rowena or Willow find the counter-curse?”

“That’s the thing. Nobody’s owning up to it. Sam and Dean were driving down the road with the bracelet in the backseat. Apparently Sam had another lead from some relative of a slayer back some long-ass time ago. They were moving right along and then poof.”

“Poof?” Little moments like this were what reminded him that he was not her biological father.

“Poof!” Buffy repeated. “Big ball of light blinded them and then poof. She was there.”

“What is she saying?”

“Well, she freaked. Busted out a window and ran.” She paused. “Though it’s Faith so it’s hard to tell if that’s a big deal. It could be bad or she could have really wanted out. Needless to say, they were close to the bunker so Nick already went off. Spike and Cas just left and Sam and Dean are also looking.”

Giles sighed. So much for utilizing the late checkout he’d already paid for. “We’re on our way. Should be there in a couple hours.”

“Good,” Buffy said with relief. “One quick question.”

“Yes?”

“Why would she be naked?”

Giles choked on his sharp intake of breath. “Who?”

“Faith. Duh.”

“Well, I honestly can’t say. Hopefully we will get all the answers once we locate her and determine how she escaped from the bracelet.”

After saying their farewells, Giles hung up and looked to Mary.

“I heard,” Mary acknowledged immediately. “Your phone volume’s not too stealthy.”

“Right,” he agreed. “So I guess we best shower and start toward Lebanon.” They weren’t dumb enough to not realize the vampires had extraordinary olfactory systems. They’d kept the relationship quiet for the better part of a month.

“Yeah,” she replied without moving. “Unless we first—“

“Quickly.” Leaning over, he kissed her as he lay down by her side. “Too long and they may question.”

“Agreed,” Mary responded, rolling herself atop him. “Quick is good.”

Giles took his glasses off and tossed them back on the nightstand. “Indeed.”


	4. Chapter 4

There was something about being without shoes that made Faith feel super vulnerable. More so than the naked thing, which she also wasn’t wild about, but the lack of footwear drove her current situation home. That said, if John McClain could shut down terrorists on Christmas Eve with his feet split open and bleeding, Faith figured she could last long enough for Hunter to find her.

Faith sat by the payphone she’d found—outside some gas station that apparently wasn’t of the 24/7 variety—staring at the shiny coins she’d collected off the pavement. No one seemed to be out tonight, which was either extremely fortunate or rotten ass luck. In the state she was in, she’d be liable to put some poor schmuck in the hospital out of desperation for clothes, money, or anything else that would help her feel remotely human.

All she had to do was wait. Hunter would show up. He’d get her clothes and shoes, keep her from going nuclear on some poor citizen’s ass, and help her understand just exactly what the fuck had happened.

Faith clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard to fight that thought back because she knew once she cracked it open, she’d spiral, and that was something she really couldn’t afford to do right now. Except her brain could only remain occupied with the _naked and shoeless _thing for so long—the larger part kept tugging her back to the last thing she remembered. Fighting in a cemetery alongside witches and wizards and people she now called family. Wesley on his knees before her, losing his ever-loving mind and trying to yank off the bracelet she’d taken from Rosalie. The one that was supposed to kill her and gift-wrap her power to Wolfram and Hart. The one he’d given her willingly, knowing what it would do. The one he’d tricked her into putting on because the kid trusted him implicitly, and he’d used his dead fiancé’s name to seal the deal.

Faith had knocked Rosalie unconscious. She remembered that. She’d knocked her out, taken the bracelet, and lit out of the Hyperion with intent. Things had been so clear then, in that moment. She might have been an epic fuck-up in life, but that meant shit if she got to choose the way she went out. And to die saving Rosalie Wright, the girl she thought of as a sister, was the best a slayer could hope for. Big gesture and all, fighting the good fight for the right people and the right reasons. Might be enough to earn her unworthy ass a seat at the Pearly Gates after all.

Not that Faith had wanted to die—she hadn’t—but the decision had been simple, and she’d felt good about it. As good as a gal could feel after learning the guy she’d caught feelings for had betrayed her. Even if Wes had had a come to Jesus moment after, hadn’t realized that he was signing Rosalie’s death warrant by giving her that bracelet, it didn’t change shit.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She didn’t even know where _here _was.

The sound of tires squealing had Faith jerking her head up, her heart in her throat. Thank fuck Nick had been near wherever she’d landed. She’d worry about the _how _later. Right now, she was just—

“Fuck,” she muttered as the car attached to the squealing tires came into view. The passenger-side window had been shattered, blood-streaked shards of glass rimming the bottom.

Not Nick. The sick fucks who’d had her, then. Wolfram and Hart lackeys, knowing her luck. She wracked her brain, trying to recall if Nick had mentioned these guys or what might have landed her in their company, but her brain was still stuck on the _holy shit, not dead _loop, and also giving itself proper kudos for remembering Nick’s cell phone number. If Nick had mentioned these guys, said brain hadn’t had the bandwidth to save the info.

Which meant, if she wanted to stay alive—and she very much did—that she had to assume they were lackeys.

Faith stood on wobbly legs, wincing as concrete bit into the open cuts on her feet. The girlish impulse to cover her breasts arose from nowhere, and she resented the fuck out of it. Death hadn’t been able to give her a complex the first time around—she sure as hell wouldn’t let it now.

Two doors slammed and two silhouettes appeared against the headlights. One tall—like Angel-tall—and the other on the leaner and meaner side. Not vamps—her slayer-tinglies were quite certain of that. Didn’t mean they’d make this easy, though.

The taller one raised its hands in what it probably thought was a placating gesture. “Faith,” came a man’s voice. “We’re friends.”

She snorted. “Not sayin’ it wouldn’t be the first time I woke up buck-ass naked in the back of some dude’s ride, but honey, you gotta do better than that.” She raised her fists. “If you know my name, you know I ain’t the kinda girl you wanna fuck with. So how about you get your asses back in that car unless you’re aimin’ to have them thoroughly kicked.”

The leaner shadow spoke next. “We’re with Nick Hunter. And Rosalie Wright.” A pause. “And Buffy Summers and her Billy Idol boyfriend. And Dawn Summers.”

Faith fought the urge to burst out laughing. Yeah, all of that sounded super likely.

“Dude,” the taller one said, apparently agreeing with her, “you sound like you’re reading names out of a phonebook.”

“We are with them!” the lean one shot back, looking frustrated and, Faith had to admit, brimming with the sort of tension that she loved exhausting. Too bad she didn’t do evil anymore. “Sammy here? He’s one of those Watcher things. With the Council. Like your friend Nick was?”

And suddenly nothing about this was funny anymore. A watcher? Faith snapped her attention back to the tall one—Sammy, apparently—and narrowed her eyes into slits. The first thing the fucking Watchers Council would do would be eliminate Rosalie Wright and the threat she presented. Compromised little girl and she and Nick knew it. He sure as hell wouldn’t be stupid enough to rescue her from Los Angeles and lead her right back to the fucking Watchers Council. The same asshats who had attempted to kidnap her when she was at her weakest, who would have killed her—as Nick had confirmed—had Buffy not still been so keen on playing the hero. A violent slayer was more dangerous than most of the creepy crawlies that went bump in the night and a slayer behind bars was fucking useless. They’d have had no choice but to kill her to get someone else up to the plate had Little Miss B not known when to quit.

So a slayer that was contract-bound to Wolfram and fucking Hart? Yeah, even though Rosalie was the ideal fucking candidate for the gig, she’d be too much of a liability to keep alive. Not when there was a line of others waiting to be tapped.

“I’ll say this one more time,” Faith said. “Unless you boys wanna get hurt, get the fuck back in your car and drive away.”

“Or we can do this the hard way,” the lean one said, and before she could blink, he’d whipped out a gun and was aiming it at her head.

Sammy looked appalled. “Dean!”

“It’s either this or she starts punchin’, and I’ve been tossed across the room a time too many over the past few weeks by a baby slayer just learnin’ her strength. This bitch could make it actually hurt.” Dean tilted his head, waving the nozzle of the gun up and down. “Don’t wanna shoot, darlin’, but I will if you make me.”

Sammy was shaking his head, his hands up and his eyes wide. “He won’t shoot you.”

“Yeah, I will. Not sayin’ it’s my first choice.”

“Dean, we didn’t hunt her down just to kill her again.”

“Of course we didn’t. But we’re also not gonna burn hours playing tag when we don’t know _why the fuck _she’s suddenly not dead anymore. Or if this really is Faith and not some trick pulled by those evil LA lawyers. I’ll put one in her leg to save us some time.” He favored her with a lazy smile. “And word to the wise—a bullet in the leg hurts like a son of a bitch, even if you have magical slayer powers. I’d avoid it if I were you.”

Faith looked from one to the other, then to the gun. There was a chance, a great one, that she could move and have good ole _Dean _pinned to the ground before he got trigger-happy, but being that she’d been back from the dead for all of an hour, she didn’t want to risk it.

But she also didn’t love the idea of spending her first night back in the real world standing buck-ass naked in front of a closed convenience store, held at gunpoint by a couple of GQ models. A girl had pride, after all.

Before she could make up her mind, though, another pair of headlights announced the arrival of another car. It jerked to a halt beside the Impala, and then a voice she knew—a voice she trusted—tore into the air.

“Faith! God, it is you.” The next thing she knew, Nick had plowed right on past the Watcher wannabes and taken her into a bear hug. He sniffed and she realized he was crying. Hell, she was too. The part of her that had been shut up tight since making the phone call was out at last, and the unreality of the last hour crashed down around her.

“I didn’t believe it,” Nick said, pulling back and cupping her face and peering into her eyes. “Kept expecting it to be a lie. Can’t believe it. I…” He released her, turned, then seemed to realize they had an audience.

An armed audience.

“Dean,” Nick said, his voice a low growl, “care to explain why you’re holding my best mate naked at gunpoint?”

*~*~*

Willow checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes. Also for the third time in ten minutes, she wondered if she was out of her freaking mind. Particularly after the meeting with Toadmore and his lackey, who turned out to be the witch who had shown up a couple of months back to modify everyone’s memory. Sabrina Deanne, her name was. She’d been less uptight today—pleasant, even. Not the no-nonsense woman Willow remembered storming into the Hyperion and scaring her out of her ever-loving mind.

“I’d like to thank Mrs. Granger-Weasley for everything she’s done to make this meeting possible,” Sabrina had said, nodding at Hermione. “After the…unpleasantness a couple of months ago, we agree that it is in everyone’s best interest that we remain as open as possible.”

“There are concerns,” Toadmore had chimed in. “Particularly in regards to the International Statute of Secrecy, as well as our own additional secrecy measures, especially regarding your relationship with the NoMaj governor Samuel Norman Seaborn.”

“A relationship that has ended,” Willow had replied, not without a pang. Some days were harder than others—this one just so happened to be rougher. Perhaps because she knew that whatever came next, if she acquired the seeds she was after, the line in the sand would be drawn insofar as Sam was concerned. That by pursuing this course at all, she was taking their relationship out of hold and either fixing it or killing it entirely.

“We understand he is the full-time guardian of the child you bore him,” Toadmore had said. “We are…concerned about what may happen if the child shows signs of being something other than NoMaj.”

“But that has to happen all the time,” Hermione had interjected, flushing brightly. “Even among NoMaj families. I, myself, am Muggle-born.”

“Yes, we know,” Toadmore had replied dryly, and given her a look that more than spelled out how he felt about Muggle-born witches and wizards. “And of course, it happens here as well. Even among politicians, though thankfully those occurrences are rare. However…” He’d leaned back, lacing his fingers across his broad stomach. “Governor Seaborn’s associations with Ms. Rosenberg have caused quite a bit of alarm for the Magical community as it was. He has also been resistant to becoming a client of Wolfram and Hart, a law firm that specializes in—”

“We know exactly what Wolfram and Hart specializes in,” Hermione had replied coolly. “Being that they attempted to murder Willow, Harry Potter, and others.”

“They are merely protecting the International Statute of Secrecy. And they do an admirable job. I think the Ministry of Magic could learn a thing or two from them.”

The conversation had gone predictably downhill from there, with Hermione becoming increasingly heated and Toadmore giving back as good as he got. Sabrina Deanne had remained quiet, more or less, and stayed behind when Toadmore stormed out, muttering about foreigners and NoMaj witches who were in over their heads.

“Mr. Toadmore’s superior is working directly with Percy Weasley,” she’d said apologetically. “He knows he needs to play nice if we’re going to make any headway. But he is rather prejudiced against…” She’d waved at Willow. “I’m afraid we weren’t prepared for NoMajes who were…well, magical. You’re a bit of an unknown.”

“And what happens if my son does display signs of being a wizard?” she’d replied. “Sam and I decided together that Oz was better off with him for now. I’m…not in the right place to be a full-time mother.”

That much she hadn’t meant to say, but hadn’t been able to keep in, either. She felt a compulsive need to explain why she, a mother who very much loved her son, would relinquish custody of said son to the father without a fight. There were days when she regretted it entirely, but most of the time knew it had been the right call.

Times like the present, when she intended to follow a disastrous meeting by stealing something from the Herbology department. When she’d use what she stole to undo the magical binding that had erased huge chunks of her life…and when she didn’t know how she’d react to it.

She was too dangerous to be Oz’s mommy right now. But still, it hurt.

And the look Sabrina had given her hadn’t made her feel any better.

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” she’d said. “But between us, I hope we never do.”

That had been hours ago. Willow had spent the time after trying not to freak out, with Hermione assuring her that all would work out, improve as their relations improved. She’d taken Willow back to Percy’s office toward the end of the day—Percy had been in a meeting and away, which was luck no one could have wished for—and told to wait. For whatever reason, it was government policy that the person who brought a visitor to MACUSA be the same person who left with them. Hermione was officially working as an extension of the Ministry of Magic, which spared her from kowtowing to the rule. But she hadn’t known how long Percy might take in his meeting—Percy had a way of losing track of time while working—and had been very apologetic about leaving Willow alone.

Willow, of course, had wanted to be left alone, but had done a reasonably good job pretending like she didn’t. After assuring Hermione that she wouldn’t feel abandoned if she headed off to meet Ron for dinner, Willow had sneaked back into the halls and made her way toward the Department of Herbology.

Three little seeds were all that separated her from her memories. From truly understanding what had driven her to erase her own mind and those around her.

From remembering Tara.

And, if she were being honest with herself, it was that, more than anything, that pushed her forward.

And made her wonder what sort of future she had with Sam, if any. What sort of future she wanted. If he even wanted her anymore—if she was the sort of person who could want him, too, knowing what she did about herself.

Tonight was her chance to find out.

*~*~*

Rosalie was starting to ask questions. Well, not starting. She’d been asking questions for the better part of two hours. The most pressing of which had revolved around, “Where the hell is Nick?” and “Where the hell is everyone else?”

Rosa Lee’s opening night was minus its owner, her Watcher, the resident angel, her uncle, and Dean. Whatever Dean was to Rosalie. And for some stupid reason that made absolutely zero sense to Buffy, Nick and Sam had both agreed that telling Rosalie what was going on was a bad move. Something about getting her hopes up, which yes, Buffy could understand. But she’d also been on the receiving end of _not _receiving information, and knew that both Nick and Sam were buying more trouble than they were saving by keeping her in the dark.

The phone in her pocket went off. Buffy glanced around the empty bar—no sign of Rosalie—then whipped it out and answered.

“Tell me something good,” she said by way of greeting.

“Don’t think Cas is gonna have a chance to sing ‘Sweet Caroline’ tonight after all.” There was a pause. “Dunno how _good _you consider that, Slayer, but we take our wins where we find ’em.”

Buffy closed her eyes and released a long sigh. “Still nothing?”

“We’re lookin’, pet. Would be a spot easier if the bloody angel would let me take the bloody wheel.”

Castiel muttered something in the background about valuing his wings too much to subject himself to the hell that was Spike’s driving.

“Oi,” he replied. “I’ll have you know I’ve never crashed a sodding car.” A pause. “Not by accident, at least.”

Buffy sighed. “Spike—”

“Think their witch might try a location spell?”

“They don’t have anything of Faith’s. We already asked.”

“The bloody bracelet oughta do in a pinch, right?”

“Well, if Sam and Dean get back before Nick finds her, then—” A scent hit the air, and Buffy’s stomach twisted. “I gotta go. Something’s wrong.”

“Slayer—”

“Bye.”

She turned and made a beeline toward the back, nearly running down a stricken Lorne, who came hurtling out.

“Oh thank heavens,” he said when he saw her. “It’s bad.”

“What?” Buffy said, not slowing down. But she already knew. The scent in the air was tears, and Rosalie was on the floor, holding her head and sobbing.

“The cat has jumped way out of the bag,” Lorne said, coming up behind her. “And she is pissed.”

Rosalie looked up, tears streaking down her face. “Is it true?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “I Saw her. Is it true?”

“What did you see?” Buffy asked, kneeling beside her.

“Faith. Hugging Nick.” She made a face. “Naked but…maybe that’s the past? But it didn’t feel like the past. Buffy, is that where he went? Where _all _of them went? Tell me.”

“The naked thing isn’t a _he’s cheating on you _thing,” Buffy said, because she remembered being a teenage girl and knew the exact leap she would have made if the PTB had decided that being the Slayer wasn’t enough—she needed visions as well. “We don’t know why…she’s naked.”

Rosalie rose to her feet, wiping at her eyes. “But it’s true. She’s back?”

“Something’s back,” Buffy said, mindful of her words. Just in case this turned out to be a massively unfunny joke played by the Powers or Wolfram and Hart or some other asshole. “We… It came out of the bracelet. Sam and Dean were on their way to visit some long lost slayer relation, then Faith just kinda…_exploded _into their backseat, busted a window, and took off.”

“And Nick…went after her.” Rosalie’s mouth hardened into a line. “Tonight. Without _telling _me.”

“He didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Rosalie’s eyes glittered. “How bad is it if I kill a human? On a scale from one to ten? Because he might just be a dead man.”

Buffy released a breath, feeling some of her tension going along with it. She slung an arm around Rosalie and drew her in for a hug. “Spike will help you hide the body.”

Speaking of…her cell started ringing. She’d wondered how long he’d let her go without calling her back. Buffy answered with a soft smile, brushing Rosalie’s hair out of her face. “It’s good,” she said. “Rosalie just…got a line from the PTB about what was going on. Seems they didn’t think she should be in the dark.”

“Uncle Spike, I need your help hiding Nick’s body. Because I’m gonna kill him.”

“Well,” Spike replied in a downright jovial tone, “turns out to be my kinda night after all.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You care to explain why your _best mate_ is naked and here?” Dean countered, though he did lower the gun mostly.

Nick turned back to Faith. “No bloody idea.”

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic,” Faith responded. “Because I don’t even know where the fuck we are.”

“Kansas,” Sam answered. He then turned to his brother. “We really need to do something. Somebody drives up and finds three guys, a gun and a naked and bloody woman and we have a sexual assault case to deal with.”

“Right,” Nick agreed. He pulled his tee over his head and then held it out to Faith. “Here, love. Until we can get you properly dressed.”

“Wait a minute!” Dean said, raising the gun barrel once more. “Look, we don’t even know if she’s Faith.”

Nick gave him an incredulous stare. “Who else was trapped in that bracelet?”

“He’s right,” Sam said hesitantly. “That bracelet was designed by Wolfram and Hart. We really can’t be sure without running some tests.”

“Tests?” Nick balked. “What can a witch who never saw her before do compared to me?”

“He has seen all this before,” Faith said gesturing to her now half-naked body.

“Yeah, trust me we’ve heard,” Dean muttered.

“I know!” Nick said whipping around to Faith once more. “Tell them. Tell them something nobody knows about me.”

She arched her brow. “You really wanna go there? I got shit you couldn’t live down.”

His cheeks reddened. “Don’t tell anything like _that._ Just something…mildly humiliating.”

“How are we going to tell?” Dean asked.

“Just wait,” Nick said holding his gaze to Faith. Truthfully, he too needed this verification.

She looked down at the ground, seeming to be searching for a proper answer. “Star Wars,” she said slowly.

“Nice try,” Dean drawled as he raised the gun all the way. “You’re wearing his fucking Han Solo shirt.”

She looked up to Nick’s eyes. “You called in to work to go audition in London. You actually got a callback, but didn’t make the final cut. You were going for a storm trooper.”

“No fucking way!” Dean said lowering his weapon in complete shock. “That’s fucking awesome!”

Nick felt the tears starting again. This was his girl. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her cheek and buried himself in her neck. “Faith,” he whispered in pure relief and joy.

“I almost told them how you like to say a little blonde’s name when you come,” she whispered in his ear.

He pulled back with a blush and a smirk. “Well, that one isn’t an entire shocker anymore.”

“Great!” Sam called out. “Let’s call in the search and head back. Again, before we get spotted.”

Nick took Faith’s hand and led her toward the car. “How long has it been?” Faith asked.

“A little over two months now. We’re in Kansas. Rosalie and I never returned to Los Angeles. Sam and Dean have a bunker and we are there along with Buffy and Spike.”

“And the bracelet?”

“Was brought back with them,” Nick said, gesturing to the guys getting into the black Impala.

“That explains the how, but not the why. And…” She paused as she looked at the convertible door Nick opened for her. “How the fuck did you afford this?”

Nick gave a nervous chuckle. “I borrowed it. Forcibly.”

“Watcher Boy is gonna be in trouble,” Faith singsonged as she sat inside.

He shut the door. “You have no fucking idea.”

*~*~*

Sam adjusted his black bow tie nervously. It was straight until he played with it. Fidgeting, he fixed it again. Or unfixed it. He really wasn’t sure anymore.

“Jesus Christ!” Toby snapped. “You’re like a virgin on prom night.” He was glaring from his seat across the limo.

“It’s L.A.” Sam whined. “I hate being back. Plus this is my first night away from Oz since taking him to Sacramento.”

“Hurry up and get it out of your system because we’re pulling in.”

Sam looked out to see The Beverly Hills Hotel coming into sight. He’d changed into his formal wear in the airport lounge since arrival was so close to the start of the fundraiser. “C.J. and Danny still coming?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything to them about Oz?”

“No,” Toby responded.

“Because Danny’s still is a journalist and—“

“I know,” the older man growled. “They still think the interview’s the whole story. So shut up.”

“Yeah,” Sam said absently as the limo stopped in front of the red carpeted entrance to the hotel. With a resigned sigh, he opened the door and stepped out into barrage of lights and cameras.

Sam wasn’t at all fazed by the press or the attention that came from his political status. He’d been a close aid to the President for four years before embarking on his own elected career.

These nerves were all tied back to the apparent PTSD he suffered as a result of everything he’d lived through in L.A. a couple months ago. Compounded on was the fact he knew that he was having to act a part to Wolfram and Hart and MACUSA, he wasn’t entirely sure he could pull off.

Because he knew they were watching. Likely, they were both here tonight.

After getting inside and downing a couple drinks, Sam began to relax as he mingled with an assortment of friendly faces. Seeing C.J. helped to calm his nerves, always grateful to have his surrogate big sister in close proximity. She’d helped him with a few introductions with contacts from her former public relations days.

He might have turned into a fanboy when he got the chance to have a conversation with Bill Nye the Science Guy. He would have been embarrassed if the man hadn’t asked for a selfie after they talked about Sam’s current plan to join the Pacific Energy Initiative, even if the White House couldn’t gain enough votes in Congress.

Taking a break from all the obligatory shmoozing, Sam wandered off to the bar to grab a drink before the speeches began.

“Rum and Coke,” he told the bartender.

A rather nice looking woman strolled up next to him. “Rum and Coke,” she said to the man behind the counter before turning to him with a shy smile. “Hello, Governor.”

“Hi,” he returned in kind.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said with a bashful grin. “But I really wanted to take a moment to thank you.”

It was Sam’s turn to blush. “Well, thank you. I don’t know if I deserve it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

She shifted slightly on her heels, which Sam noticed she definitely didn’t need. She was possibly taller than C.J., but a little younger with curly light brown hair. “I really appreciated how you handled the whole situation with your son’s mother. Most guys would have taken the opportunity to play the knight in shining armor. You were really clear in stating that she hadn’t needed a man to rescue her, but chose to have you help raise your son together.”

Sam swallowed hard. He was glad it had come off as he had intended. “Well, thanks.”

“Sorry if I said too much. Obviously, I’m sorry that she’s unwell, too.” She grabbed her drink from the bar and nodded. “I just wanted to thank you for that. As another independent woman.”

He could definitely tell that last part. He smiled and extended his hand. “I never got your name.”

“Jessica. Dr. Jessica Spano. I teach Women’s Studies at Stanford and am also on the board of the California Planned Parenthood.” She took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Well, Dr. Jessica Spano, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

*~*~*

“The show must go on!” Lorne had announced as the bar officially opened at seven. While he had been able to keep on keeping on with the schedule, Rosalie could not.

She was a complete and total wreck. She’d been on pins and needles waiting for this moment to come. And Nick wasn’t even here.

While she outwardly displayed her anger, she was also equal parts hurt, scared and nervous.

The fact that he hadn’t told her Faith had come back was the main source. He might have thought he was protecting her, but being the last to know had been humiliating. The fact that he hadn’t taken a moment to talk to her after he’d left was just painful. After everything they’d been through, she knew she deserved better than a rejected call.

Which then begged the question of what happened now. He and Faith had been close. Closer than Rosalie wanted to think about. But she couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. And if what she heard was true and Faith had actually memorized Nick’s number to have him rescue her…

What if Faith’s time away changed her? What if going to wherever she’d gone made her realize what an amazing a man Nick truly was? Well, except for when he was an ass like right now. What if she realized she wanted Nick as more than a friend with benefits?

As much as Nick claimed to love her, was it really more than he loved Faith? Could she compete with the woman he’d first opened up to? His best friend?

Surprisingly, a couple of patrons actually showed up shortly after the doors opened. One looked like a hunter looking for action and another was what Lorne had warned as a werewolf. Both had ordered drinks and set themselves up at separate tables.

Dawn was filling in for Nick at the bar. She’d been noticeably relieved when both men had simply ordered alcohol.

The door swung open and a vampire and an angel walked into the bar. Any other time and Rosalie would have probably commented on the fact they were the setup to a joke.

“Kitten beer, kitten,” Spike called out when he saw his sister-in-law behind the counter.

“Not fucking likely,” Dawn replied, reaching down to pull up a brown bottle.

“There goes your tip,” Spike teased as he walked up and took the beverage.

“Have Dean and Sam returned?” Cas questioned.

“Nope,” Buffy answered as she walked in from the back, a pint glass half full of blood in her hand.

“Nothing sexier than a wife bringin’ her man a drink after a long hard day,” Spike purred.

Buffy rolled her eyes and reached over to snatch the bottle from her husband’s grasp. “Six dollars,” she said as she finished filling the glass with beer.

He made a noise of discontent, but fished a wad of cash from his pocket. Slapping down a ten, he held out his hand for the drink. Buffy handed him the glass and then proceeded to down the rest of the beer from the bottle.

“Pretty sure that was mine,” Spike remarked.

“Married. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine.”

“Buggered that up a bit, love,” he replied with a smirk.

“Don’t think I did,” she said putting her elbows down on the bar and giving him a challenging smile.

Three unknown vampires entered the bar. Rosalie sensed them almost as quickly as Buffy and Spike sensed them. One of the two males let their fangs drop and gave a growl.

“Try anything and I’ll dust you in the lot,” Spike warned.

“Play nice!” Lorne chirped as he walked over from the stage. He looked at the potential customers. “Let me get you set up with a table and drinks.”

As he led them away, two more men walked through the door. “You try anything and I’ll take you in the lot, too,” Spike teased.

“Sure,” Sam said dismissively as both Winchesters went straight to the bar.

“Where’s Hunter and Faith?” Buffy asked.

“Just pulling in,” Dean answered as he slipped his wallet from his back pocket and gave Dawn a nod and a wink. “Double shot of Jack and a beer.”

Rosalie lost track of the conversation. Her eyes and brain were solely focused on the door. Her heart was pounding so fast she was beginning to have trouble breathing. It took all of her control to keep from running outside to hug Faith and beat Nick into a puddle of boyfriend goo.

Her mind paused at the fact that he may no longer actually be _her _boyfriend after tonight.

The door finally opened and Faith and Nick walked inside. Faith was hobbling, covered in blood, barefoot in only a t-shirt. A tee Rosalie recognized from her and Nick’s first shopping trip to Walmart.

Nick was obviously shirtless, his arm wrapped firmly around Faith’s waist. It was unclear if she needed physical help or he was simply unable to keep from touching her. Both his recent tattoos showed starkly across his pale chest. His anti-possession symbol Sam and Dean insisted everyone get was on one side. The other was a single white rose that he had gotten the same day. The rose that was to symbolize that no matter what might happen, his loyalty would always be to Rosalie.

A sharp, hot knife of jealousy plunged into her gut, and Rosalie couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Hi,” Nick said looking up at her tortured expression with a sheepish smile. “Surprise?”

She marched right up to his smug, stupid face and cocked her fist. She was so focused on the look of realization in his eyes that he was about to get his ass kicked that she didn’t register the shouts from everyone else.

It wasn’t until she was flying backward that she remembered the damn protection spell. Luckily, instead of hitting the ground, Spike had reacted in time to catch her.

“I kinda figured the first swing would be for me,” Faith said in response. “Considering I knocked you out and stole your jewelry.”

Rosalie looked at Faith with awe. A part of her wanted nothing more than run up and hug the woman she had mourned the past two months. But another part of her was dying as she realized the life she’d just started to build as an adult could be crumbling under its very foundation.

“Rose,” Nick said wearily. “I think we should head back to my office and talk.”

“You work in a bar now?” Faith asked.

“Not quite,” he responded, his focus remaining on Rosalie. “Please?”

Rosalie swallowed. Why was this suddenly the worst day of her life? Nodding, she turned to start walking to the back of the bar.

“Look on the bright side,” Faith called out to her. “For once Nick actually put clothes on me instead of taking them off. Granted, pretty sure the night’s still young.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Zack, who had been dozing, jerked his head up at the exclamation. He glanced at Wright, who was staring out the windshield, his jaw slack. Zack followed his gaze, and a bark of laughter exploded off his lips.

_Rosa Lee’s Cantina._

“It could be a coincidence,” Zack said, knowing damn well that it wasn’t.

Wright was rigid, gripping the steering wheel so tightly Zack almost expected him to rip the thing right off. At length, the burly demon hunter shifted and withdrew his cell-phone from his pocket. He pulled up his contacts and hit Spike’s name without taking his gaze off the gaudy neon sign.

“Zangy,” Spike greeted with enthusiasm. “It’s been a minute.”

Zack squirmed and tried not to succumb to jealousy. Even though he knew the events had been out of Spike’s hands, it still smarted to hear his best friend refer to his _other _best friend by a nickname that had once been his alone.

“Tell me that little shit didn’t name his bar after my daughter.”

There was a pause. “Guessin’ you already know the answer to that. If it makes you feel better, no one here’s lettin’ him hear the end of it.”

“It’s…kind of sweet?” Zack offered. He threw up his hands when Wright shot him a glare. “Just saying. Some girls get promise rings—this guy gives her a bar.”

“Zangy Number Two!” Spike said, sounded delighted. “Trust you to be the romantic sap.”

“Spike,” Wright interjected quickly, “do me a favor. Go grab Nick and hold him still until I get in there. I don’t care how _sweet _it is, I owe that boy at least one good punch just on principle.” He glanced up, meeting Zack’s eyes. “When some twenty-something pops your Rosie’s cherry before she’s old enough to vote, you’ll understand.”

Zack shook his head. “I understand well enough now.”

“You mean to tell me you boys are here?” The excitement in Spike’s voice was hard to miss. “This night just gets better n’ better—oi! Watch it, Slayer.”

There was a slight shuffle, then Buffy’s voice rang over the line.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re here? Wolfram and Hart, big evil, wants Rosalie dead. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Wolfram and Hart, big evil, zapped up Faith’s superpowers, Faith magically regurgitates within spitting distance of my daughter. Do I need to go on?”

Buffy was quiet for a moment. “Just how many speeding laws did you break to get here so fast?”

“All of them. Only got pulled over once. Had my brother flash some fang and the cop went screaming back to his car. Have you found Faith?”

“Yeah, and she’s definitely Faith.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Vampire, Zack. Do you have any idea how hard it is to mimic someone’s smell?” Buffy sighed. “Besides, she already passed Nick’s dork test, from what Sam says.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean she’s safe. Wolfram and Hart could’ve tracked that bracelet.”

“Hold on—Spike, what?”

Another shuffle. Spike had apparently reclaimed the phone.

“Got beautiful bloody timin’, mate,” he said. “Your girl’s beau just made her cry. Wanna pop him good and proper? Stay outside. I’ll get him to come to you.”

For a moment, Zack thought Wright might actually crush the cell-phone, he was holding it so tight.

“He. Made. Her. What?”

More shuffling, then Buffy again.

“It’s nothing,” she said dryly. “Rosalie’s a pot of teenage hormones and she’s feeling a little insecure about the fact that her boyfriend’s old fuck buddy showed up wearing his T-shirt. Trust me, Zack—hey!”

“Don’t come in here guns a blazin’,” Spike said, having evidently reclaimed the phone. “Jolly Green and the Winchester Wankers’ witch-on-call got this place properly mojo’d so no one can have any sodding fun. You wanna knock the little git’s teeth out, I’ll get him to come to you.”

“Spike!” Buffy grumbled in the background.

“Slayer has no room to talk,” Spike continued. “Shoulda seen her the first time some dickless prat made Nibblet cry.”

“That is _not _the same thing!” Buffy protested.

“Love, the bloke was thirty minutes late because Dawn wrote the time down wrong. Wanna rethink that?”

“Well…you’re the one who threatened to kill his family!”

“Bloody right I did. Wanker made my Nibblet cry, didn’t he?” When Spike spoke again, his voice was a bit clearer. “Whaddya say, Zangy? Wanna make sure the little tosser bruises?”

For the first time since they’d hit the road, Wright looked something other than determined and terrified.

“Send that little fucker out.”

*~*~*

It wasn’t that Faith didn’t get it. Well, it was a little that Faith didn’t get it because she’d never been the typical teenage girl, moony-eyed over anyone. The closest she’d come to loving anyone when she’d been around Rosalie’s age had been Mayor Richard Wilkins III, and in a very, very different context. The guys she’d been with then—boys, mostly—had been arrangements of convenience. Or just random as hell, as had been the case with Xander Harris. She’d never gotten dopey enough about anyone on an emotional level to feel threatened.

But she had been super jealous of Buffy. Super B with her little squad of heroic friends. The good Watcher on her side, Little Miss Could Do No Wrong. Faith had blown into and out of Sunnydale as the problem child, and yeah, that had smarted. Still did to some degree, and she wasn’t sure how long they’d be able to keep the peace if they were all living under one roof. It had been that jealousy that had inspired Faith to go after Angel all those years ago, and then Riley while she’d been wearing her Buffy suit. Hell, she’d even made a pass at Spike. All of those encounters had basically reaffirmed what she’d already known—that Buffy was the center of their worlds, even before Spike had admitted it to himself.

And yeah, for a period, she and Nick had been the center of each other’s. Not in a gross, romantic way, but as each other’s anchors. What one needed, the other gave, and vice versa. That they’d also fucked like bunnies made the relationship hard to understand from the outside, but it had always made perfect sense to them. Granted, there had been the odd time or two when Hunter had worried she had feelings she didn’t, normally because of fears other people put there, but he’d go all red when she laughed in his face and not mention it again until the next time someone—namely Rosalie—made him feel the need to check.

Rosalie was a teenager, a barely legal one at that. Her little life had never been normal but everything over the past few weeks had been topsy-turvey. The man she thought of as an uncle had tried to kill her, the woman she’d looked up to—then, at least—had died in her place, and the guy she liked had finally decided to bone her. An unplanned resurrection was sure to throw anyone’s world off-kilter, but fuck if it didn’t hurt that the first thing she’d seen on Rosalie’s face hadn’t been elation or love.

Anger. Fear. Jealousy. Hell, maybe the girl even hated her a bit now. Hated her the way Faith had hated Buffy back in the day—having all the cool toys and friends and generally being the best at everything. That anyone could think of her like that was tragically fucking funny. Be careful what you wish for, and all that shit.

Still, Faith was grateful when one of the new faces—Sam, he’d said—had turned to her, seemed to realize she was half-naked and covered in blood in a place where both of those things were a bad idea, and offered to take her back to “the bunker” for a shower and some clothes.

When she stumbled out of the shower twenty minutes later, dressed in a pair of sweats and an AC/DC T-shirt Sam had pulled from his brother’s room, she found him waiting at what had to be the main meeting table, glued to his phone.

“You were right,” Faith said by way of greeting, pulling on the waistband of her borrowed sweats. “Bit loose but I ain’t gonna complain.”

They had decided to raid Dean’s wardrobe for a number of reasons—Buffy was too lean, Dawn too tall, and Rosalie already too sensitive to take anything from them. The other option had been Mom, but Sam had paled at the thought of going through his mother’s things, muttering something about not wanting to find anything that might confirm she was actually in a relationship with Giles. Plausible deniability was the best bet there.

Not that that had made any sense, but Faith hadn’t given a fuck. Dean’s stuff fit her fine.

“Good,” Sam said, fitting his phone back into his pocket. “Feeling any less…?”

“Dead?” Faith just barked a laugh. “Considering I left this world in good ole sunny LA and woke up in the Twilight Zone where I’m pretty sure I might’ve just lost one of the only people I give a fuck about just by showing up, I’d say this feels closer to Hell than Purgatory.”

Sam pulled his face into a frown. It was, she had to admit, a nice face. He was also built like a motherfucker and probably knew how to use that in all the right ways. And here she was with all this pent up tension just aching to be burned off.

But that baby-face, honest-to-fuck _earnestness _in his eyes had her mentally pegging him as a lousy lay, which was a damn shame, considering the piece of art that was his body. Plus hopping in the sack with the girl’s watcher—for the second time—was probably not the way to make nice with Rosalie.

There was that pang again.

“It’ll be okay, Faith,” Sam said, and she saw he meant it. Or believed it, anyway. Great. A boy scout. Not her type anyway. “Rosalie’s been through…a lot in a short period of time.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that like? Turns out this is actually my very first fucking rodeo and that excuse doesn’t make me wanna break that pretty nose of yours.” She barked a laugh and spread her arms. “Really? Platitudes from a guy I’ve known less than an hour? Fuck you.”

“Look—”

“Just point me in the direction of the nearest cemetery, hoss. Find I really need to kill something.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You…you can’t leave yet.”

“Wanna watch me?”

“We don’t know why you’re back, or who might know. I know you’ve been through something traumatic but now is not the time to do anything rash. And once Rosalie calms down, she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Fine,” Faith replied shortly. “She can do that after I’ve slain a vamp or twelve. Not talkin’ about leavin’ the state, but if I don’t blow off some steam soon, your little treehouse here is gonna be ground zero in something I know you boys aren’t prepared to handle, whatever you think of yourselves.”

Sam’s jaw hardened. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you leave.”

She just laughed at that. “Wanna try and stop me?” She let her eyes roam up and down his body, and reconsidered. What the hell? What was one more crime on her rap sheet? If Rosalie had a problem with her fucking the Boy Scout, she could deal with it like a goddamn adult. “Go ahead, Sam,” she said, letting her voice drop as she sauntered forward. “Try to stop me. Try it hard.”

Sam’s baby face went slack with shock and he began to back up. Like she was a dangerous animal or something. Which, in the moment, not a comparison she hated. “Faith… Ahh, that’s not a good idea.”

“No? ‘Cause I got all this energy I need to burn off somehow. You want to keep me here. _Do it_. Otherwise, my very fuckable ass is out that door.”

“Your…ass?”

She laughed again, the sound coming out as a cackle. “Oh, you are a Boy Scout, aren’t you? Sure. You make me come hard enough one way and you can earn a backstage pass to paradise.”

“I—that is. I mean…” Sam looked at her, his pulse noticeably pounding in his throat. He whipped out his cell-phone and made a call without breaking eye-contact. “Cas? Yeah. I need you here. Right now.”

“Someone ordering a threesome? From zero to wild child. I like it.”

“Hello, Sam.”

That voice came from behind her. Faith whirled around, too proud to admit she’d been caught off guard, and found herself blinking at a not-unattractive guy wearing a beige trench-coat and looking like he had an epic case of constipation.

“The fuck did you come from?” she sputtered.

The man looked at her, but his expression didn’t change. “Sam requested my assistance.” He glanced back to Sam. “You sounded urgent. What is wrong?”

Sam motioned vaguely to Faith, who just arched an eyebrow. “What?” she said. “You actually called in reinforcements? Oh, honey. This guy looks like a stiff breeze could blow him over.”

“Castiel, this is Faith, the Vampire Slayer. Recently back from the dead.” Sam was backing toward the door. “Faith, this is Cas. He’s an angel of the Lord and more than capable of keeping you here. I’m going back to the bar to check on Rosalie. You…stay here. You.” He looked to Cas. “Don’t let her leave, whatever you do.”

Sam was gone then, like that fucking cartoon rodent. Faith wasn’t sure whether to be amused, annoyed, or enraged. But if the angel thought he could lasso her, he was about to learn just how hard she could punch.

Faith turned to Cas, eyeing him again.

Hell, that might even be fun.

*~*~*

Honestly, Willow had expected the theft to be more, well, eventful. As it turned out, getting into Snitch’s office was the opposite of challenging. She’d been prepared to curse the door open, but the dang thing hadn’t even been locked. And once she was in, finding the jellyfish tree seeds had been super easy. Snitch was what the NoMaj population would call _anal retentive_. He had everything labeled and alphabetized, and even included little note cards for proper handling of the rarer species. The trickiest part of the night had been magically replicating the seeds so Snitch would be none the wiser. Sure, he was bound to notice if he actually tried to use them in something, but it was more likely he was just a collector. NoMaj plants couldn’t have been of too much interest.

When she returned to Percy’s office, it was still empty. He didn’t join her for another forty-five minutes, and when he did, stumbled a bit as though surprised to see her.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I, ahh, rather forgot you were with me.”

“Gee, thanks, Perce,” Willow replied, trying to affect an annoyed tone, when she was buzzing with excitement. Tonight she could begin to spell-cast; for the first time since leaving the Hyperion, she felt completely in charge of her own destiny, and it was a heady sensation.

One nothing could take down.

Not even when she saw the father of her child on television when she got home. Being that she was now a California resident, it was rather difficult to go more than a few days without seeing Sam Seaborn’s pearly whites smiling up at her from a screen or newspaper. The first dozen or so times had been like a kick in the gut. When his spin team had released the story regarding how he’d come to be a single father, Willow had curled herself up in a ball and refused to get out of bed for three straight days, hating herself and missing him and missing their son and the story they’d once told themselves about their future. It seemed like that world belonged to someone who didn’t exist, or perhaps never had.

It had gotten easier after that, though. She’d watched Sam’s poll numbers dip and rise again, forced herself to sit through several uncomfortable press conferences that had started off as feeding frenzies only to become the next internet meme of “how to kick ass, take names, and look good doing it.” Sam seemed more popular today than he’d ever been before. In a weird way, having a baby out of wedlock might have been the best thing he’d done for his political career.

So yeah, it wasn’t surprising when she saw him on television anymore.

But the candid shots of him looking extremely chummy with a pretty strawberry blonde that CNN identified as Jessica Spano of Stanford University and board member of Planned Parenthood, along with some snide remarks from the pundits…yeah, she hadn’t expected that. The sight or what it did to her heart.

Willow looked down at the ingredients she had spread before her. The ones connecting her to the past, to Tara, to possibly the great love of her life. Then she looked up again in time to see Sam throw his head back and laugh at something the professor had said.

It meant something that it hurt, she thought. Meant that she wasn’t ready to give up on him—on them. On the version of her she was when she was with him.

Or maybe it hurt because she knew she could never go back. _Alea iacta est_. The die had been well and truly cast.

She didn’t know. She both loved Sam and hated him for letting her walk away, for agreeing with her when she’d said it would never work. For not standing by her when everything had come crashing down around her. And she appreciated the hell out of him for that, too. For recognizing what she needed and being so willing to give it to her. For not hesitating to take their son when it could have been, even should have been political suicide. She hated him and loved him and missed him and never wanted to see him again.

And part of her was downright terrified of what the spell would reveal because of it.

Which made her all the more determined to get it done.

*~*~*

It was too bloody easy.

Spike let himself into the back office without bothering to knock. Not that the dainty little human ears would have heard, anyway, considering the thunderous yelling coming out of Bite Size. To the git’s credit, little Nicky seemed to be standing his bloody ground, not apologetic but not exactly angry either, more exasperated and desperate.

“Not now,” Hunter snapped when he saw Spike in the doorway.

Rosalie wheeled to face him, her eyes sparkling with tears that punched him right in the gut. Still, when she spoke, her voice didn’t quiver a bit. “Haven’t killed him yet. Will let you know when I need the body dumped, Uncle Spike.”

Spike inclined his head. “Good to know watcher’s still on the menu, but I thought it might be of interest to the owner that some teenage blood-bags wanted to celebrate openin’ night in style.”

Nick stared at him for a moment, closed his eyes and seemingly willing for patience. “What?”

“Well, for starters, the name of this place, accordin’ to the outside is now Rosa Lee’s _Cuntina_.”

“Bloody hell!” Nick gave Rosalie a searing look, then tore out of the office like the proverbial bat out of hell.

The fire seemed to deflate from Rosalie at that, and after a moment, when she made to follow, Spike held up an arm and prevented her from leaving the office.

“Still mad at the wanker?”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded miserably. “And myself. And him. Mostly at him.”

“Then what you’re about to see is gonna be bloody cathartic.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Spike just grinned and nodded toward the front. “Follow me, if you please.”

Sadly, his uncly duty to make sure the girl was all right caused him to miss the actual swing, but he got there for afters. Found Hunter on the ground, bruise around his eye already forming, and Wright yelling his head off about consequences and pervy twenty-somethings. Zack had out his phone and seemed to be recording the full thing.

When he saw Spike, Zack looked up and flashed him a toothy grin. “Didn’t want you to miss this.”

Pride and affection burst in Spike’s chest. He came over and thumped him on the back. “Bloody good to see you, mate.”

“Dad?”

Wright stopped glaring at Nick and dragged his gaze upward. The second he met Rosalie’s eyes, the fury that had contorted his face faded away into a mask of love and relief. He favored her with a half-grin, then spread his arms wide. “Surprise, Posey.”

Rosalie looked from him, to her moaning lump of a boyfriend, clearly torn on whether or not this was a good thing. Then her expression hardened, likely as she remembered she was brassed at the git, and when she looked up again, there was nothing but relief and joy.

“Dad!” she cried, and flung herself into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Wright crushed her to his chest, and all the tension that had been lining his body melted away. “Kid, you have no fucking idea.”

Spike turned toward the door as Buffy and Dean came through. “You left the Nibblet by herself to tend bar?”

“She’ll be fine,” Buffy said, taking in the scene with an air of resigned amusement. After a moment, she walked over to Nick and offered him her hand. “Let’s get you on ice.”

“You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” Nick said sourly.

“I had a hunch.”

“And you let me go through that door anyway.”

She shrugged. “Got it over with, didn’t you? There was really no way Wright wasn’t going to hit you, even if you hadn’t made Rosalie cry.”

At the words, Wright tensed and aimed another glare at Nick, his arms tightening around his daughter.

“Bloody hell,” Nick said. “Just had to remind him, didn’t you?”

Dean snickered and clapped Hunter on the back. “Nicky, I ain’t a father, but there was no fucking way he was gonna forget that. None.”

“None,” Wright mouthed, unblinking, expression stony.

At last, Rosalie drew back, wiping her eyes and beaming up at her father. “What are you doing here? I thought it was too dangerous.”

“You really think I wouldn’t drop everything the second I heard that bracelet went off?” Wright replied, wiping hair out of his daughter’s face. “No fucking way.” He paused, then glanced over at Nick. “Well, now that that’s settled, what do you have for drinks around here?”

A weary-looking Nick edged back into the bar, careful not to put his back to Wright.

Spike turned to Zack, clapped him on the back. “Now, let’s watch that video, yeah?”

*~*~*

Dean wasn’t sure what to expect when he returned to the bunker. Shortly after the excitement outside, Sam had pulled in, looking a bit harried and unsettled. He barely reacted to Wright or Zack’s presence, rather went straight to the bar.

“How’s the newest houseguest?” Dean had asked.

“Uhh, aggressive.” Sam had tipped back a beer, then, smirking slightly, favored him with a look. “I think you’re gonna like her.”

Dean hadn’t lasted long at the bar after that, though he did stay long enough to belt out “Eye of the Tiger” on stage to uproarious applause—at least in his head. When he left, Spike had been on his third or fourth blood beer and he and Zack, who couldn’t be more obviously delighted to be back in each other’s company, were enthusiastically karaoking to “Young Lust.”

When Dean entered the bunker, he found Castiel sitting at the meeting table, his hair ruffled, one eye swollen and a cut down his cheek. The trench coat was rumpled and streaked with dirt. The dude looked like he’d been thrown into a wood-chipper and spat back out.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said without looking up.

“Dude. What happened to you?”

“I prevented Faith from leaving.” He still didn’t look up. “I have never fought a slayer before. She is stronger than I thought.”

Dean’s eyebrows winged upward. “You…fought her?”

“I had no choice. She needed to fight.” A touch of pink brightened Castiel’s face. “Or to have…relations.”

Oh, no freaking way.

“Don’t tell me…”

“Angel boy couldn’t find a clitoris with two hands and a map,” Faith said grumpily as she strolled into the room, looking disgruntled and…wearing Dean’s clothes.

Dean looked between the two of them, uncertain whether to be outraged or tickled. He settled on tickled. “Oh, this is too good.”

“Glad someone got some satisfaction out of it.” Faith rolled her shoulder, wincing. “Boy wouldn’t even hit me right and it ain’t any fun swinging if they don’t swing back. So I went with door number two and goddamn, there’s a reason B fucks demons and not angels. First lay back from the dead ought to at least come with one orgasm.”

A laugh erupted through Dean’s throat. He glanced back to Castiel, who wouldn’t look at him.

Faith paused, eyeing Dean up and down in a way that killed his amusement right quick.

“Still got your gun, big guy?”

“Always.”

“Good. I _really_ need to kill something and I think that might be the kinda thing you’d like to watch.” She paused, throwing an annoyed glance at Castiel. “Unless you’re gonna put up a fight, too.”

For a moment, Dean considered what a _fight _with Faith might entail. He remembered the way she’d moved in the cemetery the night she’d died, how fluid and graceful she’d been, confident and sexy as fuck, right up until the end. And yeah, she could kick his ass, but that in itself was kinda hot.

Okay, really hot.

But he wasn’t sure he wanted to explore that any further just yet. Especially since she’d just gotten out of the sack with Cas. Dean didn’t have too many standards when it came to bedmates, but fucking the same girl his best friend had fucked, satisfactorily or not, on the same night would be a bit weird.

Next best thing? Watching her sexy ass in a fight.

So he grinned and gestured to the door. “After you, darlin’.”


	7. Chapter 7

“You know it’s just the two of us, right?”

Donna gave a snort of laughter that would have mortified a woman less confident in her relationship status. She had no worries of chasing Josh off this late in the game. “There’s four. Oz and baby Groot.”

She wasn’t ready to start playing the name game yet. She and Josh decided to wait until they found out the gender, which couldn’t come fast enough.

“Well, neither one can tell if we make a little noise,” Josh said in what he believed was a seductive tone as he moved closer to her on the sofa and attempted to put an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey!” She said as a live shot went to the fundraiser in Los Angeles. Donna leaned forward to snag the remote from the coffee table.

“This is probably the one time I’ll beg you to turn off CSPAN.”

She increased the volume. “You used to make us leave it on while we had sex, Josh. You really can’t say you don’t like it.”

“Whatever,” Josh muttered. He folded his arms and sank back into the cushions. “Fine. I don’t want to see LA okay? It’s freaking me out that he went.”

She understood. She wasn’t exactly thrilled either. But this really was the best strategy going forward to convince all the bad guys that everything was hunky dory. “Does she look familiar to you?” Donna asked slowly as her eyes remained fixated on the screen and the lady being tagged with Sam.

“You know I met Wolfram and Hart through one of these things? She could be an agent!”

Donna shook her head. “I don’t think so, but…” Her brain was definitely telling her something about Dr. Jessica Spano. “Seriously, Josh, look at her.”

He quieted and followed her direction. “Hmm…yeah, not the White House, but she does look familiar. Did she come to that women’s thing Lady Santos did last year?”

Donna frowned. “Maybe? Maybe that’s it. It says she’s with Planned Parenthood. They did bring a large delegation.”

Josh released a sigh of relief. “We’re being silly. It’s a damn Dem fundraiser. We know the whole room.”

Donna relaxed. Of course. That made absolutely perfect sense.

But she still had a weird feeling when she looked at the woman that there was something wrong. Something she just couldn’t quite remember.

Josh leaned over and snatched the remote from her grasp. Clicking off the power button he tossed it down on the table. “Seriously, let’s go have some sex without worrying about the guys for once.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood up. Men were so predictable.

“Fine, but I gotta pee first.”

So were pregnant women.

*~*~*

He had imagined this night for the past couple months with a variety of scenarios, both good and bad. The current situation hadn’t been anticipated or prepared for.

And it fucking sucked.

Nick had found another T-shirt in the back, this one an unofficial uniform and advertising print Lorne had ordered in bulk. He’d put it on before heading to the bar to relieve Dawn from her voluntary bartending time.

The only good note is that everyone was actually paying for their drinks. At least while the mean, green, mind-reading machine was still on the premises. He expected he’d be going bankrupt shortly after Lorne returned to LA. Without Rosalie’s support, the odds of controlling her family were slim.

Which pissed him off, to be honest. Not just at her, but with the whole lot. It was probably for the best he kept his eyes down and mouth shut. Zack Wright and his gaggle of vampires would love nothing more than to drag him outside and use him as a punching bag and scapegoat for everything wrong in the world.

“Jack and Coke,” Rosalie said as she leaned up against the bar, slapping down some cash.

“You’re underaged,” he said curtly, not bothering to look up. Actually, using all his restraint to not let himself look up at her.

“That’s funny!” Dawn slurred, pointing at Nick. “You didn’t care a couple months ago!” She smacked Sam on the back and dissolved into giggles. At least Sam had the decency to look apologetic when Nick looked over at them seated at the bar.

“My dad,” Rosalie replied, apparently finding the joke as funny as Nick did.

Snatching the cash, he began the order. Anything to avoid dealing with Wright again tonight.

“So, how’s your face?” Rose asked conversationally.

He stopped mid-pour. Looking up, harnessing the angriest and coldest look he had ever targeted in her direction. If he didn’t love her so much, he likely would have retorted with a very insulting name. Instead, he shook his head. “Don’t, Rosalie. Just don’t.”

He saw the hurt fill her eyes. But goddammit, it was her fault she was still upset. Had she’d given him a chance to apologize about not answering her before and just explain…fuck it all.

Forcefully, he smacked the drink down on the counter. He’d expected her to take it and stalk off toward her father. Instead she picked it up and tilted it back against her lips, draining the contents.

Well, his anger was gone. His eyes widened in shock.

“Fuck!” She gagged as she put the glass down. “How can Coke be made so yucky?”

He couldn’t help himself. He had to smile at her as she stuck her tongue out in disgust, wiggling as though it would make the taste dissipate faster. “You never sipped from Daddy’s bottle I take it.”

She steadied herself against the bar as he assumed the alcohol went to her head. He’d poured Wright a double. “No,” she choked. “Mom always said I wouldn’t like it. Let me have her wine a couple times.”

“Yes,” he said, doing his best to remember he was still pissed off. “I’d say you’d prefer something a little sweeter.”

“Try a daiquiri,” Dawn suggested. “Or a sex on the beach.” She then turned to Sam and started giggling again.

Nick grabbed the glass and quickly remade the original drink. Then he poured a Sprite, adding grenadine and topping it with a couple maraschino cherries. “Shirley Temple. More your style.” Keeping his gaze on the drinks, he slid it across them across the bar toward Rosalie.

She reached out and took his hand. Again he stopped his movement and looked up at her. “Can we talk?” she asked. When Dawn made an interested noise she added, “Alone.”

Nick nodded, pulling back and gesturing to his office. Neither one spoke until they closed the door inside.

“Look…” she began with an awkward shuffle.

“Rose,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call. I didn’t want to tell you until I could verify it. And I wanted to make sure it was safe before we brought her here to you.” He paused. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I saw her and assumed it was all right, but Sam and Dean reminded me that it could all have been a trap to get to you. But never for a second was I doing anything to hurt you. Bloody hell, my whole sodding existence revolves around your ungrateful ass!”

That last bit may have been a bit much. Before he could apologize for the flash of pain he saw behind her eyes, she responded. “I know that, jackass! But you got to remember that you and her were a thing way longer than you and me!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Rosalie Wright, that Faith and I were—“

“Fuck buddies. Friends with benefits. Besties with orgasms. _I fucking know_!”

He gestured in exasperation. “Then why are you fucking mad? You’re pissed off that she’s alive?”

“No!” she shouted, picking up stapler off the desk and throwing it at the wall directly behind Nick’s head. “I’m happy she’s back!”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Right way to show it, love.”

There was a knock at the door. “Uhh, is everything okay in there?” Sam’s voice said through the barrier.

“Yes!” they shouted in unison.

“Yeah…” the current Watcher said hesitantly.

Rosalie took a shaky breath, attempting to calm herself. “Seeing you two together…I _saw_ you holding her before you had given her your shirt…it reminded me of all those times last year I’d catch you guys. It reminded me how…how I could never compete with her if you two ever…changed your minds.”

His jaw fell slack. For a second he forgot how to speak. The first words that came to mind were not his most romantic. “You’re stupid.”

Her eyes flared in anger. “Excuse me?”

He shook his head. “You’re bloody stupid, Rose.”

“Fuck you!” she spat, reaching toward another loose object upon the desk.

This time he laughed in earnest. “Look around, love. I gave up the promise of a lifelong career. I opened a bloody demon bar in nowhere and named it after you despite the fact that _everyone _thinks I’m a total wanker for it. I’ve put up with your intolerable uncles and completely disrespectful father and wholeheartedly ungrateful entire bloody family solely for the chance to be near you. I’ve confessed my love when I’ve _never_ loved anyone in my bloody life before you. Not even my own mum.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Rose, I honestly don’t know what else I can do to prove—“

Before he could finish, Rosalie rushed forward and wrapped her hands behind his neck, pulling his lips down to crash against her mouth.

Finally his world started to make sense again. Slipping his arms around her, he dipped in tongue between her lips, savoring the lingering taste of the whiskey and feeling himself quickly grow drunk on her kiss.

He hadn’t realized they had moved until he felt her edge up onto the desk, wrapping her legs around him and rubbing herself against his jeans. “Mmm,” he replied when he felt her hands firmly grab his ass and pull him tighter against her body.

Fumbling, he slipped both hands up the back of her shirt, one coming forward to grasp her breast while the other tried to unhook her bra.

There might have been a knock. He wasn’t sure.

He was sure when the door broken open, cracking off its hinges. Nick and Rosalie turned their heads in the direction of the noise to find Zack Wright huffing from where he’d apparently kicked his way in. Spike and Zack were standing behind, both showing their vampiric form.

“Dad!” Rosalie cried, quickly scrambling to unwrap herself from her boyfriend’s body. “What the fuck?”

Wright’s eyes first flashed in pure fury before becoming softer and more embarrassed. “Sam said there was shouting. And something hit the wall,” he responded uncharacteristically sheepish.

“We were…talking,” Rosalie replied lamely. Giving Nick a brief look of fear, she folded her arms across her chest.

He had just managed to unhook her bra before they were interrupted. Nick gave a nervous cough and took a step back, aiming his guilty gaze to the floor.

“That’s not talking,” Spike said lowly.

“That’s inappropriate,” Zack said with disgust.

This seemed to trigger the Slayer. “Inappropriate? Do we really want to talk inappropriate?”

“Not really,” Wright muttered.

“Yeah, like boning Faith when she was underage was appropriate. Or Spike boning Buffy when he was like a million years older.”

“Hey!” Spike snapped. “Not hardly.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes and ignored him. “Or the time Uncle Zack molested me? That was _totally _appropriate.”

Nick looked up to see complete shock and horror on the faces of the men in the doorway.

“So yeah. Getting busy with the boyfriend who loves me and is only like seven years older is where we draw the line.”

“I’m getting a beer,” Zack said weakly. “Guys?”

“Yup,” Wright responded, quickly turning around and heading back toward the bar.

“Agreed,” Spike said, following suit.

When the others cleared, Nick released the breath he had been holding since Rosalie’s last verbal punch. “That was the Jack talking, right?”

“Think so,” she said as she reached back to refasten her bra. “Maybe we skip the part where we tell them that.”

“Trust me, I’m not saying a word.”

She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Did we just finish our first fight?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying during our second.”

*~*~*

It was totally unhealthy how much watching a woman kill things turned him on.

There was something more than sexual in the way she moved. Though it was definitely sexual. She was overtly sexual in her moves and even her noises as she dusted one vampire after another.

Faith danced as she fought. Like a prima ballerina with her kicks and flips and thrusts. It was like watching an artistic performance, but being in the middle of the stage.

“Duck,” Faith called out.

Dean blinked in confusion. She hadn’t said anything since she went to work in the cemetery. Not that he minded. Between watching her, he’d silently been contemplating where the hell all these vamps had come from. Until tonight, this place had been literally dead.

“Duck!” she shouted again.

“Goose?” he answered back lamely. Realization hit him over the head as a vampire whacked him from behind. “Duck,” he muttered as he tumbled to the ground.

Before he could pull himself to his feet, Faith had bounced over and made short work of the demon. “Oh my god,” she said as she reached out a hand to help him up. “You’re the dumb fuck from the cemetery. Back in LA.”

He groaned, but took the proffered help as he stood up. “Apparently I’m a slow learner.”

“I’ll say,” Faith replied taking a look around. Seeing the coast clear, she released a whistle and dusted herself off. “Whew! Hadn’t had vamp tussle like that in years. Don’t think I’ve seen that many deadies pop up like that in a night since my Sunnydale days.”

“Sunnydale?”

“Hellmouth,” she answered absently. “Total demon magnet. Made nights fun. Got one close?”

“No,” Dean responded, not even sure if ‘Hellmouth’ was a real thing. “I guess this is all due to the cantina.”

Faith shook her head. “Nope. I mean unless it’s different when a sanctuary bar first opens. Caritas draws a lot of baddies, but these were all newly risen vamps. Those happened in LA sure, but this was like a party or something.”

A thought crossed his mind that he didn’t really want to voice. That being said, there was no point playing dumber than he’d already looked tonight. “What if it has something to do with you?”

The woman gave him a dirty look. “You think it’s my fucking fault? Pretty sure you’d’ve been dinner if you had ventured out here solo, prick.”

“Defensive much?” Dean said rolling his eyes. “Not your fault, but what if this is tied to whatever brought you back?”

She didn’t have a smartass reply for that question. Instead, she gave the cemetery another visual inspection before tucking her stake into the waistband of her sweats. His sweats, he reminded himself, unable to keep from finding that pretty hot. “Yeah, I got the memo that nobody wanted me back earlier.”

“Fuck,” he responded. “Didn’t want you back? We all fucking researched for weeks trying to find some spell or shaman or voodoo priestess that knew how to reverse that curse. Hell, I think Sammy and Giles read every book in the bunker. Every night Hunter would come in from working on the bar and join them. Dawn and Rosie started some hotline on Reddit or Tumblr or something looking for tips from the dark web.” He shrugged. “Rowena told them that some younger witches were big on the internet or something. Even Cas went looking for his angel buddies to see if they had a clue on what to do.”

Faith was quiet for several moments. “Well, I didn’t see any welcome home signs tonight. Especially from the slayer sisters.”

“From what I’ve heard, you have quite the reputation with the fellas.”

“Something wrong with that?” she challenged.

“Nope,” Dean said. “At least not in my opinion. Life is short. We both know that from personal experience. Why the fuck should it matter what we do to take the edge off? I think saving the world is the bigger deal. I’m just saying that the teenage girl saw you half-naked and hanging on the guy you used to diddle. If you were in love with a dude, you might get a little jealous, even if it was your idol who was flashing her pussy.”

“The shirt was long enough to cover my pussy, thank you.”

“Point is, Sharon Stone, that you might cut a girl a break. She may have had a drama queen moment, but she’s been missing you like crazy. Not sure how many times I’ve caught her and Hunter tearing up over you being dead.” He paused. “Or whatever you were.”

“Are you always this lippy?”

“Are you always this bitchy?”

Dean figured he was due the punch he expected as she marched over to him. He was pleasantly surprised when instead she cupped his face in her hands and dragged his mouth down to her own.

She was a bomb of passion detonating against him. As their tongues began to dance, she leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs around him and rubbing herself against his abdomen. Dean didn’t realize he was stumbling backward until he felt the cool marble of a mausoleum against his back. Flipping around, he pressed Faith against the stone, grinding himself against her.

“Fuck,” she gasped, pulling back for air.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to bang you tonight,” he muttered.

“Well, you’re definitely not my type,” she replied as she released her leg lock from his body.

“Because I don’t need a map?” he retorted.

Then her lips covered his once more and their tongues began another duel for dominance. He felt her cup his growing erection through the denim of his jeans, grasping him just hard enough to squeeze any logic from his brain. Slipping a hand between them he dipped his hand beneath the waistband of her sweats and traveled down to the apex of her thighs.

When his finger traced the warm wetness of her slit, she pulled her mouth away with a gasp. He hesitated then, realizing he had been a complete fucking dick to assume she wanted to go this far. Looking at her, he slowly snaked his hand back.

Locking her eyes with his, she grasped his wrist, pressing it downward. “I thought you said you didn’t need a map.”

“I normally get more verbal confirmation before this point.”

Faith gave him a smirk. “I figured you could read the body language there, Ducky, but I guess you’re the type that likes them begging.”

“What can I say? A guy likes to feel needed.”

“What I need,” she said as she pushed his hand against her damp flesh, “is you to hurry the fuck up.”

That was all he needed. Dipping a finger between her wet folds, he showed her he indeed knew where the clitoris was located. After rubbing her until she began to squirm, he sank two fingers inside her tight hole and began to pump in and out. “Fuck,” she moaned, letting her head fall back against the stone.

“Fuck,” he replied in kind as he worked a third digit inside, turning his palm to rub her clit with every thrust inside her dripping pussy.

“Yes!” She gasped, whipping her head up to look him in the eye as he finger-fucked her. “Harder!” As he obliged, he felt her muscles tense and soon she was grasping his shoulders and bucking uncontrollably as her long-awaited orgasm finally arrived.

Dean slowed his pace as he felt her body start to come down. While pleased with the handiwork, he wasn’t at all satisfied.

Apparently neither was Faith. Pulling his hand out of her pants, she kissed him deeply as she felt her begin to fumble with the fly of his jeans. “Tell me you have a condom,” she murmured against his lips.

“In my wallet,” he answered.

“Good ducky. A girl likes a boy who’s prepared.” He felt her tug down and his pants and underwear went near his knees. Scrambling to find his back pocket, he watched her drop her sweats and kick them off. She grabbed his wallet when he pulled it out and made quick work of locating the Trojan.

“There’s fast girls and then there’s you.”

“You better believe I’m one of a kind, Winchester,” she said taking the foil packet and tearing it open with her teeth, dropping his wallet to the ground. “Now get ready for the ride of your life.”

And as Dean sank himself inside her hot, slick pussy moments later, he met Faith’s eyes and was more than eager to accept her challenge.


	8. Chapter 8

“So,” Spike said, lifting his beer bottle to his mouth, “how long you two think you’re stayin’?”

Wright and Zack exchanged a glance. “We didn’t exactly talk about it,” the latter said. “You could even call it a vamp-napping. For the second time in three months I was the hostage of a lunatic.”

“Oh, quit complaining. You were excited to get here.” Wright nodded at his brother. “Think this one’s been missing you.”

“Shut up,” Zack snapped.

“Aw, Zangy, I’m touched.”

Zack rolled his eyes back, but couldn’t quite kill his grin. “Like you haven’t been bored outta your mind here in Bumfuck Nowhere. Seems kinda like torture for a vamp who hates sitting around.”

“Honestly, mate, not much borin’ around here at the mo’,” Spike replied, setting his bottle on the table. “Some days move slower than others, yeah, but the Slayer and I have taken a couple of what the Winchester Wankers call cases when that happens.”

“So you’re a hunter now?” Wright asked, his lips twitching. “That’s… Damn, Spike, that’s hilarious.”

“Mate, I’ve been a traitor to my kind for nearly a bloody decade. Don’t think there’s much you can say that I haven’t already told myself.” He snorted. “And these cases are sodding jokes after all we’ve seen. Take this Heart of the Dragon spook that Bite Size’s watcher sent us after. Took us longer to park than it did gettin’ rid of the thing.”

“I heard it snapped your neck,” Sam said, dragging up a chair and straddling it from behind. “And I didn’t send you anywhere. Buffy volunteered to go.”

“What are we blaming on Buffy now?” the Slayer in question asked, sliding gracefully into Spike’s lap. He purred his content and wrapped his arms around her middle to pull her back against him.

“Little adventure earlier in the week, pet,” Spike murmured into her throat before dropping a kiss there. “The one the baby watcher was so worried about.”

“Not sure how I got the blame for that, but okay.” Buffy shrugged and wrapped her arms around Spike’s shoulders before looking back to the others. “So…when do you guys head back?”

Zack snorted, shaking his head. “Nice to see you too, Buff.”

“I’m just saying, big evil in LA. The point of us hunkering down out here is to keep off their radar.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know what brought Faith back,” Wright said, glancing to Rosalie, who was working in tandem with Nick behind the bar. “And that she’s really okay.”

Spike felt Buffy tense in his arms before she released a long sigh. “Zack,” she said softly, leaning forward. “She’s never going to be okay. You really need to just accept this.”

Wright blinked at her dully. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“But she’s, right now, about as okay as any slayer in the history of all slayers,” Buffy went on. “Just look at the support system she has now. A boyfriend who used to be a watcher who has already proven he’ll do about anything and put _up _with about anything to be near her.”

A scowl crossed Wright’s face. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe that you’re about as subtle as a train wreck,” Sam murmured before lifting his own beer to his lips. He paused, then winced when he looked up and caught the vampires looking at him. “Forgot about your super hearing.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and went on. “Then she has a demon hunter watcher, his demon hunter brother and their demon hunter mom, then me, Spike, Dawn and Faith. And that’s just in Kansas. In California, she has you and Cordy, plus Zack, Kelly, and…” She paused, her face hardening as it did whenever her thoughts drifted to Willow.

Spike pressed his lips to her shoulder and waited. They hadn’t discussed Willow all that much, or what all Giles had learned two months prior. There was the business with their memories being mucked with and he reckoned Buffy hadn’t dug too deep for fear of what she might find. At the moment, they were at a loss at what was real and what wasn’t.

That wasn’t even getting into the things they’d been meant to believe about themselves, each other, and the world. It had been bad enough last year when they’d discovered Wolfram and Hart had planted false memories meant to drive them apart. That a friend could do it, a good friend, one of Buffy’s best, was something Spike knew she had yet to recover from.

The last clear memory he had of that period was the time he and Buffy had spent at the Hyperion following the gang’s return from Pylea. Then, according to what one of the witches had dug up, they’d gone off to England to fight Glory. And he could trust none of the memories that followed that—not up until the moment he’d first slipped the ring he’d been given by whom he’d believed to be Albus Dumbledore onto his finger.

That penny would drop one of these days, and they’d have to suss out what was real from the wreckage.

“The point is,” Buffy said a moment later, her voice a bit thicker, “Rosalie might never be entirely okay, but she’s never going to be alone. And she needs her dad to trust her more.”

“I trust her just fine,” Wright replied coolly. “It’s everyone else I don’t.”

“But Wolfram and Hart might know where she is now. So maybe you should try trusting us just a little.”

Wright sat back and threw his brother an exasperated look, one that only became more exasperated when Zack didn’t jump in to his defense.

“Really?” he demanded.

Zack threw his hands up. “I’m just saying, it was kinda reckless. Plus the Hyperion’s not exactly super-staffed anymore. Kel and Gunn can hold everything down for a bit, but Rosie gets into more shit every day and William’s enamored with her, so he follows her everywhere she goes and Kel can’t keep an eye on them twenty-four-seven. Plus the baby—”

“All right, all right, I get the picture.” Wright released a long sigh and looked at his daughter. “I’ve never been apart from her this long before. Don’t think I knew how hard it’d be. And when I heard about Faith… Fuck, my head just snapped and I knew I needed to get here fast to make sure she was okay.”

Sam nodded stoically before thumping the hunter on the back. “You know we’d call for you if we needed help. But…I gotta say, I think Buffy is right. Losing our heads is what these people want. Makes us sloppy. Rosalie does have a small army around her now.”

“Uh huh.” Wright’s face had gone slack in such a way that Spike knew, without turning around, that Nick was moving.

Spike sighed, then turned to see what was going on, taking Buffy with him. He watched the little sod clamor up to the stage, ignoring the line of uglies vying for their turn. He approached the mic with solemn determination.

“Hello,” he said. “I’d like to thank everyone who joined us for Rosa Lee’s grand opening. This has been a more eventful night than we thought.” He paused, then grinned and motioned to the shiner Wright had left on his face. “As you can see.”

The demons guffawed. Spike glanced back to see Wright looking a mixture of proud and sheepish. He didn’t envy the man in the slightest, trying to navigate the knowledge that little Rosalie was all grown up and being shagged on a nightly basis was bizarre enough for him. For her father, it had to be downright torture.

“It’s not a proper bar if there’s not a fight over a girl on the first day, I think. So I’d like to take a moment, and the stage, to sing something about the cantina’s namesake.” He turned and grinned at Rosalie. “Just to get everything in the clear, yeah? Lorne, if you would.”

There was a pause, then the first chords of a familiar song split the air and, before Spike could help himself, he’d barked a laugh.

“What?” Buffy asked in a hush. “I don’t know this song.”

“Just wait, love…”

Nick had taken the mic and was gripping so tight it wouldn’t shock him if the thing went shooting out of his hand.

_“Well, she was just seventeen. You know what I mean.”_

Buffy burst out laughing. So did Sam.

_“And the way she looked was way beyond compare. So how could I dance with another when I saw her standing there?”_

“Dammit,” Zack said, his voice a bit awed. “I think I might end up liking this kid before the night’s over.”

_“Well she looked at me, and I, I could see that before too long I'd fall in love with her. She wouldn't dance with another. When I saw her standing there.”_

Rosalie had come out from behind the bar and was torn between gazing at Nick with a combination of teenage infatuation and womanly want and checking the corner table to see if her father was brandishing a weapon.

_“Well, my heart went boom when I crossed that room and I held her hand in mine. Whoah, we danced through the night and we held each other tight. And before too long I fell in love with her.”_

Hate to admit it as he did, Spike found himself conceding that there might not have been a better way to cap the evening’s spectacle than by addressing the bloody elephant in the room. It was the first time he could recall that Nick hadn’t gotten all red-faced and sulky, and even though it’d graciously been over a century since he’d been human, Spike hadn’t forgotten what it was like being the punch-line to every joke. Nick had licked his wounds and turned what could have easily been fodder for another decade’s worth of ribbing into a joke before anyone else had the chance. That took stones.

Spike came to a decision then, and nudged Buffy until she understood that he meant to stand. She balanced on the floor and tossed him a curious, somewhat concerned look.

_ “Now I'll never dance with another when I saw her standing there.”_

“What’s wrong?”

Spike nodded to the bar. “Need a top off. Want one?”

She made a face and shook her head before reclaiming his empty seat. Spike made his way toward the littlest Summers and waved her over.

_ “Well, my heart went boom when I crossed that room and I held her hand in mine.”_

“Another blood beer?” Dawn asked.

He shook his head. “Whatever the watcher boy drinks. I’ll take one.”

Dawn’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Actually going to pay?”

He swore lightly but dug a hand into the pockets of his duster and procured a twenty—one he’d used three times already tonight but resigned himself that this time he likely wouldn’t be able to filch it back.

_“Whoah, we danced through the night and we held each other tight and before too long I fell in love with her. Now I'll never dance with another since I saw her standing there.”_

Dawn held up the bill deliberately, apparently looking for a watermark, then put it in the cash register.

“Oi. You owe me change.”

“You’ve given me this twenty four times now. Pretty sure you owe the bar another fifty or so.” Dawn arched an eyebrow, then slid over a bottle of piss water that passed for beer. “I’m only doing this because I’m curious.”

Spike smirked, took the bottle, then put his back to her.

_“Oh since I saw her standing there. Oh since I saw her standing there.”_

Spike was at the stage by the time Nick took his bow. He waited a moment, then, when the little wanker looked his way, thrust the peace-offering bottle into his hands and smirked. “Admire a bloke with stones. Welcome to the family, Nicky.” He paused, then nodded to the beer. “Enjoy it. It’s the only thing I’ve paid for all night.”

Then he walked back to the table without saying another word.

*~*~*

It turned out that putting the image of Sam and the blonde woman out of her head wasn’t as easy as she thought. Which was how Willow, after staring at the assortment of ingredients she had compiled for her spell, trying to find the nerve to do the next part, found herself reaching for her phone. The CSPAN coverage of the event had concluded but that didn’t mean the thing was over. Which meant if she called him, she didn’t know what she might be interrupting. An important conversation with a donor. Some policy discussion with people who could actually make a difference. Or some post-fundraiser nookie with a certain leggy professor.

Had she mentioned how much she really, really hoped it wasn’t that last thing?

Bad idea or not, her mind wouldn’t let go of the prospect. The thought of doing this spell without having some closure on her relationship with Sam—good closure or not—didn’t sit well with her. So, rather than getting with the mystic chanting and waving of smelly herbs, Willow reached for her phone and pulled up Sam’s number.

It rang long enough for her mind to be a genuine jerk and flood her with thoughts of what he might be doing. Then, just as she was sure it was about to go to voicemail, she heard her name.

“Willow.”

Willow swallowed hard, her heart hammering. “Uhh. Hi.”

There was noise in the background—enough noise that she thought he might still be schmoozing with the politicians and donors. Which meant he likely wasn’t about to get laid. At least not at the moment.

“Willow, is everything okay?” His voice was low, like he was trying to keep from being heard. And, she realized, he totally was. Wouldn’t do well to be caught talking to the baby mama who was supposed to be MIA while there were cameras around.

“I…I just…” She licked her lips. “You’re in LA.”

A pause. “How’d you know?”

“Well, your face is on CSPAN. Or was on CSPAN. It’s not anymore. On CSPAN.”

“You just said CSPAN three times.”

“I know.” She released a heavy breath. “I…I wanted you to know that I’ve found a way to unlock my memories. Well, maybe everyone’s memories…so I know exactly what happened back then.”

He said nothing for a long moment. “One moment.”

She heard him excuse himself, tell someone that the substitute nanny he’d hired for the evening had a question about baby Oz’s feeding schedule. Then the background noise faded and when Sam spoke again, his voice was clear in ways it hadn’t been before.

“A way to unlock your memories,” he said in a frustratingly unreadable tone. “Memories of a loss so painful you nearly wiped out a continent in your grief. I’m sorry, but in what way does that sound like a good idea?”

“I have to know. There’s this huge period of my life that I don’t remember.”

“Because _you _designed it that way!”

Well, this was certainly not going the way she’d thought it would. “That was clearly a mistake,” she replied, trying to keep her voice under control. “A mistake that did a lot of damage to a lot of people. And here I thought you’d think that facing what happened would be a good thing.”

Another silence, save for Sam’s heavy breaths. She tried and failed not to remember hearing those breaths against her in a far different context.

“It is a good thing,” he said a moment later. “Facing what happened. But I don’t see how more magic is going to solve anything. It seems every time you try…”

He didn’t finish the sentence but he didn’t need to. The argument itself struck a chord within her—something familiar but not enough that she knew why.

“I can’t face what happened if I don’t know what happened.”

“Willow, you _know _what happened. Hermione told you. Facing it means accepting it—accepting the decision you made ten years ago and trying to move past it. It doesn’t mean reopening the wound.”

Well, that was certainly easy for him to say. “What would you do if you found out something like this? If you found out that there was something so ugly and dark inside you, even beyond your own comprehension, that it put millions of lives on the line? Would you want to just hope it never came out or try to understand it more so you knew how to keep it from ever happening again?”

“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to keep it from happening again?”

“The times I’ve gone dark have been fabrications. That’s why it always seemed so distant to me. So…false.” Willow swallowed. “I need to know the truth. What actually got me there. It’s safer for everyone—they’ll be able to see the signs and hopefully do something about it before I can do too much damage.”

“Do you really think that’s a possibility? Going dark again?”

The fear in his voice made her stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” she said hoarsely. “These past two months have been…the worst I can remember. All I can think of is how to fix it. I miss my son and I miss you. But I also kind of hate you for letting me do this.”

“Letting you do what? You ripped out my heart, Willow. Not the other way around.”

What the actual fuck?

“Oh, is that how it happened? You didn’t even try,” Willow shot back. “I learned this awful, awful thing and you bolted. The first thing you said to me after Hermione was done talking was that you were taking Oz to Sacramento.”

“You agreed with me!”

“And you let me just walk away. You said, your words, that you were taking our son away from his mother. So explain to me again how I broke your heart, Sam. Once you knew everything, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’d just learned this huge thing and your answer was to make tracks.” Willow felt her blood pressure spiking; the lights in her apartment started to flicker and the television, which had been off, popped back on again without warning. “I was calling to inform you of my intentions, not get your permission. I was calling because part of me still believes everything you said that night, idiot that I am. So sure. Go ahead and tell yourself I ripped you apart. But I’m clearly not the only one who’s trying to rewrite the past. I’m just better at it.”

She slammed her thumb on the _end call _button before she could say anything else—more importantly, before _he _could say anything else. It didn’t have the visceral satisfaction that had once come with slamming phones on the receiver, so she followed it up by hurling the device against the nearest wall.

She had a spell to cast, dammit.

*~*~*

It was too much to hope that the bunker would be empty when they returned, but dammit, Faith had hoped anyway. She felt like she had packed at least a year’s worth of emotional turbulence into the past few hours and she wasn’t looking to add anything just yet. Thanks to Dean, she’d landed on something close to a high note. Before the shit hit the fan tomorrow, she’d like to have the chance to just fucking bask.

But the universe wasn’t in the habit of handing out favors, especially to her. And the jury was still way the fuck out on whether or not being mojo’d back from the dead counted as a favor. Thus far, she hadn’t seen much to make her think so.

“So did the whole LA operation move to the fucking Midwest?” Faith drawled, stepping into the room. Wright and Zack looked up from where they’d been talking with Sam and Castiel about something. Dawn Summers favored Faith with a cool nod, which was really the cherry on top of the bullshit sundae she’d been given upon her return. The kid had never forgiven Faith for the whole body-swap-trying-to-kill-you thing that had happened with Buffy, even though it seemed everyone else had.

“Faith,” Wright said, offering a soft smile. “It’s…good to see you.”

“Feelin’ it,” Faith replied, patting her chest. “Right here.”

“Faith,” Castiel said with a nod, not looking at her.

Behind her, Dean snickered. When she tossed him an annoyed glance, he replied with an unrepentant grin that did more for her than she wanted to admit at the moment. There had been so few human boys she could count on to get her to a happy place. Nick had never had consensual sex before her, but he’d been eager to learn once he realized he enjoyed it, and she’d had enough time to teach him.

_You’re welcome, Rosalie_, she thought bitterly.

Wes had been up there, too, much as she hated to admit it, especially now. But before tonight, Faith would’ve said no one could have beaten Zack Wright. They’d met at a low point in both their lives and their mutual self-hatred had made them explosive—they’d taken out their rage and loathing on each other. It had been hands down the most physically satisfying night of her life. And maybe one of the reasons Wright had a hard time looking at her—knowing what they’d done then, or perhaps the reasons why they’d done it. Maybe she was just a walking reminder of the man he’d been before he’d found a home.

She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d launched herself at Dean tonight, but it hadn’t been what he’d given her. He’d fucked her like he didn’t give a shit that she was recently back from the dead, like he understood that her time gone meant she needed it to hurt just a little. Hell, she was pretty sure he’d bruised her hip and that was…worth remembering.

That he could go from doing that to snickering at Castiel was also worth remembering.

Sam cleared his throat, favoring her with that earnest puppy-dog look of his. “Where were you?”

“Patrolling,” Faith replied, rolling her shoulder. “Had some energy to burn and nothin’ here was hittin’ it.”

Castiel turned red.

Zack, the only vampire in the room, smirked. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

“Find someone who can get the job done,” Faith agreed, smirking right back at him. “Where are Nick and…”

But she didn’t say her name. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

“Closing up shop,” Sam said, also somewhat red. Whether because he’d figured it out or because the angel had flapped his trap, she didn’t know or particularly care. “Things went better than any of us were expecting in terms of opening night. Guess Lorne’s, ahh, call out really worked. Apparently, he’s spent the past six weeks hitting local demon haunts in the area to drum up business as a surprise to Nick. Explains why we were so busy.”

Faith nodded, relaxing some. Good. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see Rosalie just yet. No matter what Dean had said to her on patrol, the fact remained that she’d given her life up for someone whose first instinct upon her return was to be angry. And not even for the right fucking reasons. Hell, she’d been prepared to take a punch for knocking the kid out and dying on her, but fuck.

“What about B and blondie?” she asked instead.

“Patrol,” Dawn answered. “Someone came in and said there was a bunch of activity in the cemetery.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Fuck yeah, there was, but it was dead as fuck when we left.” He nodded to Faith. “Sammy, wait’ll you see her on the field. I’ve never seen anyone who moves like that.”

Faith turned to him, grinning. “You want me to show off my moves to your brother?”

The amusement on his face faded almost at once, and then he looked annoyed.

“Oh my god. Really?” Dawn rolled her eyes as everyone looked back at her. “Really, Faith. It wasn’t enough that you jumped over poor Cas, but you did _Dean _too? Are you going for a bingo with Sam? One more lay and you’ve fucked everyone in this room?”

“I am not comfortable discussing this,” Castiel said. “I believe I will retire for the evening. Sam. Dean.”

He vanished with what sounded like the flap of a bird wing.

“Dawnie,” Faith said, moving forward, “really thought college and getting laid at least once woulda unstuck that stick up your ass. At least big sis finally learned why it’s fun to get your naughty on. And the last time I checked, I don’t answer to anyone in this fucking room, whether or not they’ve been in my snatch. So thanks, all, for the warm welcome. Next time you need someone to die to save the world, I’ll be sure to remember that.”

And she stalked off down the hall without another word. The sound of voices followed, but she didn’t bother listening. Not that she knew where the hell to go, but with a place as big as this, she’d find a corner sooner or later.

Then there were footsteps behind her. She turned, arm raised, ready to punch whoever the hell had run after her right through the fucking wall.

Dean stopped, bringing his hands up. “Whoa there, cowgirl. I come in peace.”

Despite herself, despite the anger pumping through her veins and the twisted mess of ugly emotions taking up residence in her chest, she found it in her to smile. “That ain’t how I remember it.”

“Well…you don’t exactly play fair, do you? Those muscles…”

Her smile turned into a smirk. That had been a fun thing to teach him. Dean was one of the few human men who could take her contracting her slayer muscles around his cock. He’d bucked and sworn and nearly gone cross-eyed, then begged her to do it again, which had pleased the fuck out of her. She’d gotten out of the habit of using those muscles in the time she’d been Nick’s fuck buddy—he’d yelped the first time she’d squeezed him too tight and lost his wood for the rest of the night, which had left them both pissed off for very different reasons. Actually, now that she thought about it, Wright was the only human guy she’d been with who’d appreciated what all a slayer body could do. Something in Dean had tapped that same sense of wild abandon where she didn’t care if her partner got hurt, and that he’d asked for more was…

Well, she’d jumped his bones thinking he’d be a fun one-time lay, but maybe that had been short-sighted.

“Where’s your room?” she asked.

“My room?”

“Did I stutter? It’s the least you can do, Ducky. I need a shower and a place to crash.”

“And you chose my room. Didn’t peg on you getting all clingy on me.”

Faith snorted. “Did I say you’d be in it?”

“Felt that was implied. Being that it’s _my room_.”

“Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t give a shit where you sleep.”

Dean smirked and stepped toward her. “What about _if _I sleep?”

“Ducky, you might be strong, but you’re human. Know for a fact you can’t last all night.”

He eyed the fist that was still raised, considering. “I’ll let you hit me.”

“_Let_ ain’t gotta thing to do about it.” But damn if that didn’t turn her on. “Fine. But shower first.”

Dean chuckled and edged past her. “That oughtta be fun.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Did…” Sam frowned, looking over his shoulder down the hall where his brother and Faith had disappeared. “Did she really sleep with everyone in this room?”

Dawn snickered and glanced to Wright and Zack, who were suddenly very interested in the floor, walls, and ceiling. “She’s a slayer slut bomb,” she replied. “Tried to bang Angel when she first came into Buffy’s life, _did _bang Riley. And from what Rosalie has told me, she did Zack while he was soulless_. _And then got busy with Wes, which…gross. I couldn’t think of a more unlikely pair.”

At that, the door to the bunker opened and a very haggard but worried looking Giles and Mary Winchester came in.

“Where is she?” Giles asked, running up to the table. He paused, only seeming to notice Wright after a moment. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, I imagine.”

“Same as… Were you close, then, when you got the call?”

“Only if you call Los Angeles County close.”

Giles sighed, rolling his head back. “Why do I even bother? So…where is Faith? Where is the bracelet? Do we know anything just yet?”

At that, a loud crashing sound echoed down the hallway.

“Yeah,” Dawn said dryly. “We know that death apparently makes people horny.”

*~*~*

Sam wasn’t a heavy drinker. That was why heading straight to the bar after talking to Willow wasn’t a good idea. He’d already generated a buzz throughout the evening, but now he was ready to hit drunk.

Ordering a double rum and Coke, he slammed it back in one hardy chug before ordering another. Then, he decided that he needed to mingle. Maybe Toby or C.J. or Bill Nye could talk his mind away from Willow and the stupid plan she had. The stupid things she had said about him.

“Hello again, Governor.”

Sam whipped around to see Dr. Spano once again before him. Once again looking like a new friend in a sea of sharks. “Jessica, you’re still here!” He smiled and nodded before throwing back his glass and draining the contents.

“Well, the free bar is closing so I figure I’m about to call it a night.”

Sam looked down at his empty glass and frowned. “Well that fucking sucks.” Then he looked up in horror at his words. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

She gave a laugh. “I agree. Fucking sucks.” She paused and looked to the ground. “You know there’s a few bars around here that are still open.”

He shook his head. “I really can’t go out in public now.”

“Well, we could always use the minibar in your room?”

Sam wouldn’t realize until the next day what she had really meant with that suggestion. In his inebriated mind there had been no solicitous intention other than finding another person to help in drowning his emotions. “Sure!” he chirped. “Let’s go!” Grabbing her hand, he headed toward the door.

If he hadn’t stumbled when trying to place down his glass on a table by the elevator, they may have made it inside before a firm hand grasped his shoulder. Turning around, he swayed as his equilibrium wavered. “Toby!”

“What are you doing?” Sam could tell he wasn’t happy, but couldn’t determine why.

“Going to grab another drink! Care to join? This is Dr. Spano. Jessica, Toby here is my best friend.”

“Jessica,” Toby said in a soft tone brandishing a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you, but Sam and I need to go to bed now.”

“It’s cool,” Sam said giving Toby a sloppy pat on the back. “We’re going to my room so I can go to sleep when I pass out.”

Toby’s face formed a scowl. He looked at Jessica. “You understand I’m not letting you up there, right?”

Sam didn’t get the big deal, but before he could respond Jessica nodded. “Yes, I really should go.” Then she turned to him. “It was nice meeting you, Sam. I hope our paths cross again.” She leaned over and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek before giving Toby a second nod and walking away.

“That was rude!” Sam said in a harsh whisper.

“You’re wasted,” Toby grumbled as he took Sam’s arm and dragged him inside the now open elevator.

“Willow—“

Toby reached over and slammed a hand against the other man’s mouth. “Shut up!” he hissed.

It wasn’t until the lift moved that he released Sam. “Willow blames me,” he whined. “She called and said that I didn’t stand by her. I thought I did exactly what she wanted me to do! I only took Oz back to Sacramento because I thought she wanted the space. I didn’t fight because I didn’t want to push! I didn’t want to force myself on her when she…” His voice cracked as tears formed in his eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to know what she’s thinking? I can’t even figure out normal women.”

The doors opened and Toby grabbed his arm, leading them to the room they were sharing for the night. Silently, Toby opened the door and shoved Sam inside. Only once the door was shut and locked did he speak. “You talked to her tonight?”

“She saw me on CSPAN.” He gave a watery laugh. “Do you think that means she still cares about me or was she just worried about Oz?”

“Hell if I know,” the older man responded, scrubbing his beard with a hand. “But let’s just call Donna and check in then go the fuck to bed, okay?”

Sam flopped down on one of the beds, burying his face in the pillows. “I wonder if she’s done it.”

Toby sighed and took off his suit jacket. “Did what?”

“The spell,” Sam answered as he worked to wiggle off a shoe.

Toby was quiet a moment. “What spell?”

Sam turned his head to keep from suffocating in the fabric. “She wants to unlock all the memories she repressed. Something stupid about needing to really know what’s she done. Like Hermione didn’t already tell her. Bet somehow that’s my fault, too.”

Sam was only somewhat aware of Toby cussing and shuffling around for something. The bed and the alcohol were working double time and Sam felt himself quickly falling asleep.

“Donna,” Toby’s voice was fading in his ears. “Donna, I think we have a problem.”

*~*~*

Sabrina was exhausted. An evening surrounded by pretentious NoMajes was a terrible assignment, but since Sam Seaborn had been part of the group she had been charged with securing a few weeks ago, she’d been ordered to conduct a follow up.

At least she would be able to put a happy ending to that report. By all appearances, Sam Seaborn was clean as a whistle. While she’d only admit to herself that she didn’t remember feeding the story to him, he seemed to fully believe Willow Rosenberg was out of his life and off somewhere in Asia.

Thankfully Willow hadn’t tried to crash the party tonight. Sabrina had been concerned that could have been a thing. Luckily, Willow had taken everyone’s advice and was lying low and staying quiet. Sabrina just wasn’t convinced the witch wouldn’t eventually become a problem again.

She knew she should just slip off home and call it a day. But she was all dressed up and not quite ready to be alone. So instead of Apparating to her apartment, she popped up outside her new favorite spot.

Caritas was the most amazing place on Earth. She’d never seen so many demons and witches and wizards coexist in a single place. There were a fair share of NoMajes, but they all seemed to be hunters or half-demons or just extraordinarily eccentric humans.

And there was karaoke. Which Sabrina couldn’t help but be enamored by. It was really funny how many creatures thought they could carry a tune. It definitely beat television.

After getting inside, she bought a glass of wine and settled down at an empty table. Slipping off her heels, she was finally ready to relax.

“Hello.”

She recognized the voice before she turned to face the owner. A small jolt of excitement coursed through her. While she hadn’t _planned_ on meeting him here, she had secretly hoped. “Hello, Wesley.”

The man smiled as he pulled out the chair across her and sat. “You look rather lovely tonight.”

She hated how bad that made her blush. “It was a work thing. Nothing special.”

“Well, all the same.” He was quiet several moments, looking back and forth between her and the room.

“Wesley?”

“Every time I see you here I feel as though something is amiss.”

Part of her constant visits hadn’t just been for the terrible karaoke. She knew that first night that messing with a hunter’s mind was bound to be dangerous.

“Forgive me for asking, but are you a witch?”

_Shit._

*~*~*

Rosalie wasn’t shocked to see her father sitting in a chair next to the bunker door once she and Nick pulled into the garage. She also wasn’t surprised to see him cleaning his crossbow.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nick grumbled as he shut off the car’s engine.

“Keep cool. He’s just bluffing.” She paused and gave a weary look to her dad. “I think.”

“Rose, I swear—”

She cut him off by opening the car door and hopping out. “A little overkill, don’t ya think?”

“What?” Wright said before following her eyes down to the weapon in his hand. “Oh, this? Honestly, I just got bored waiting out here.”

Nick had slowly exited the vehicle and came up behind her. “Do I have to be shot to go to bed?”

Wright chuckled and propped the crossbow up against the chair. “I should after that little musical number, but no. Just go inside, Hunter. I’d like a word with my daughter.”

Nick made a noise of protest, but Rosalie nudged his ribs with her elbow. “Save yourself while you can.”

Her boyfriend was very displeased. Whether it was abandoning her or having to walk within spitting distance of her father, she wasn’t sure. Likely a combination of the two. But he did as requested and soon Rosalie was left alone with her dad.

“What?” she said with a perfect degree of teenage attitude, folding her arms across her chest in completion of the stereotype.

“Cut the tone,” he said as he stood up. “Age doesn’t give you a free pass to be a shit.”

Unfolding her arms, she rolled her eyes. “What, Dad?”

“One, not cool that little outburst back at the bar.” He held up a hand in protest. “Yeah, I probably deserved it, but let’s not throw that bit of past back and forth again. I know it’s weird for you because it’s weird for me, so let’s just agree that we’ll stop it now.”

She couldn’t agree more. “Deal.”

“Two, Dawn let loose the fact that you threw back a drink tonight.”

“Seriously?”

“You lied and said it was for me or else I would have actually shot your boy a minute ago.” He shook his head and sighed. “You’re the Slayer. I get that. I get that I can’t protect you and all that shit. But you’re a target. And drinking makes you a sloppy target. So if you drink, do it here or stay in the bar until you’re sober. You understand me?”

“Oh my god. You’re giving me a legitimate Dad Talk.”

“You and Nick are using protection, right?”

“Fucking hell, Dad!”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, dammit. But as your old man I’m obligated by law to fulfill this part of the parental contract.”

She was mortified and awed in the same moment. He was far from perfect, but Zack Wright was the best dad any kid could ask for. “Mary and Dawn took me to get an IUD when I turned eighteen.”

Zack’s eyes went wide and he held up a hand. “A fucking yes was all I needed, sweetie.”

She blushed. “Yes.”

“Cool.” He looked down awkwardly at his hands. “So, coming here probably wasn’t my smartest move.”

She couldn’t lie. “I’m glad you did.”

He looked up at her. “Yeah?”

“I missed you.” She paused. “Maybe not this conversation in particular, but I missed you.”

“Fuck, I’ve missed you, Rosie.”

In a heartbeat they had closed the distance and were holding each other, releasing the tears and emotions they had done so well to hide back at the bar.

Well, he did. She’d been a spastic mess. But that didn’t matter because for the moment she was Daddy’s little girl again and she relished every second.

Finally they broke apart, Wright sniffing loudly and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “So, I know I should go, but I’m not feeling good about Faith coming back unannounced.”

Faith. She didn’t want to think about how badly she’d fucked up things with her. Not until a few solid hours of sleep could finish clearing the hormones from her mind. She’d owed Faith all the gratitude in the world, but had greeted her with a ginormous ‘fuck you’ instead.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“That until we know who brought her back and why, we can’t rule you out as a target.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Until someone convinces me otherwise, you’re stuck with me.” He hugged her again. “Please for the love of God keep any…any shenanigans where I can’t see or hear or know they exist.”

“Shenanigans? How old are you?”

“Old enough not to care that you judged me. Just…I won’t break down any doors if you promise not to let me walk through any to catch you two…”

“Just remember to always knock first and we got a deal.”

Wright gave his daughter a pained expression. “I think I’m old enough to have a heart attack, so be careful.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re droppin’ your shoulder, Slayer.”

“You’re not my watcher, vampire.” Buffy smirked and took a swing at the love of her unlife, and barely kept herself from doing a victory dance when the over-confident ass sailed across the room and smashed into the opposing wall. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if Spike critiqued her sparring style because he actually thought he was helping or because he got off on getting his butt kicked. It might be a bit of both, but she wasn’t about to complain.

Spike rebounded with a toothy grin, his yellow eyes flashing and his tongue doing things to his fangs that ought to be illegal. “Baby likes it rough,” he growled, then roared and charged at her again. This time he managed to land a punch before she dropped him on the ground—a punch that might have winded her back when she’d been a squishy human, but one she barely felt as a hardened slayer-turned-vampire.

“Do you remember when you were actually a challenge to me?” Buffy taunted, dancing around his grabby hands. “’Cause I really, really don’t.”

That did it. The amusement in Spike’s eyes faded and when he snarled the next time, it was for real. He rushed her using the vamp speed he typically didn’t tap these days, and tackled her to the ground the next instant, his mouth at her throat.

“What was that you were sayin’, love?” he murmured into her skin. “’Cause I could take a bite outta you right now.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I am much, much stronger than you.” Buffy smashed her head into his hard enough to knock him off balance, then rolled to her feet with a grin. “Ready to give up, William the Bloody?”

He growled again, dabbing at his bloody nose. “There are times when I kick myself for not killin’ you when I had the chance.”

“Sweetie, you never had the chance.” She giggled when he rushed at her again, but when she went to kick him in the gut, he dropped to his knees and performed an elegant limbo-like move under her leg. His arms went around her thighs as he swept her, literally, off her feet, and wound up with his face pressed into her sex.

“Well,” he murmured, nipping at her, “that went better than I coulda planned.”

Buffy bit her lower lip hard enough to break the skin, tossing a glance over her shoulder. It was too late to be night anymore but too early to be morning, meaning everyone with a pulse—plus Zack, who kept human-child hours—was tucked in their beds. Neither she nor Spike had been too eager to go to sleep after the thoroughly unproductive patrol and had decided to burn some excess energy sparring before they burned it off another way. Vamp or not, Buffy needed to get her fight on every now and then just to make sure her reflexes still kicked ass and took names.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” she said, then whimpered when he pressed his nose against her mound. “Impressionable…young people. And Castiel.”

Spike pulled back and arched an eyebrow. “Way I hear it, the angel could use a lesson in how to properly shag.”

“Well, I don’t wanna give it.”

“Uh huh.” He slid his hand around her leg and under the waistband of her pants. “But you wanna _get _it. You smell divine.”

Oh yeah. The bloom was still well and bloomy on this rose.

“You’re a bad influence.”

He glanced up, running his tongue down his teeth. “You love it.”

“We should go to our room.”

“Too far. Want you now.”

“Bad, bad influ—” The floor dropped out from under her, a wave of dizziness smashing into her head without ceremony. Buffy moaned, her muscles going slack and the rest of her following suit. She toppled over and hit the floor with a hard thud.

Distantly, she heard Spike bark her name, worried, but then he moaned too. From the corner of her eye, she saw him clawing at the floor as though trying to anchor himself, but it was no use.

Then the memories came. Hard and fast and awful.

She and Spike had been at the Hyperion for two weeks when the call came. Glory was in England. She knew the Key was a person and, in her desperation, had become more dangerous than ever. Buffy and Spike had begun making travel arrangements almost immediately, Gunn and Wright volunteering to come along for muscle. They’d found a flight, made accommodations for vampire travel, and left to save the world.

They’d arrived in time to bury Joyce. Oh god, that was where it’d happened. Despite the Council’s best attempts, they hadn’t been able to save her mother, and Buffy hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. She and Dawn had held each other, sobbing as they lowered the casket into the ground. Spike had been oddly stoic, holding onto her hand with such force it almost hurt. And Ben had been there for some reason—not at the funeral but in London. Ben, the nurse from Sunnydale, and she’d thought how weird that was but her grief-stricken mind hadn’t been up to the task of unraveling the mystery. That was until Ben had morphed into Glory and sucked out Tara’s mind. Buffy had watched it happen—_Willow _had watched it happen. And neither of them had been fast enough to stop it.

Ben was Glory. Glory was Ben. They shared one body. Only the others didn’t know, didn’t remember. She and Spike had spent hours trying to drill this into her friends’ heads, but the mojo that kept them sharing a body was too strong for logic. Except Willow…Willow got it into her head that Ben was somehow involved with Glory, and in her rage, had ripped off Ben’s skin, trying to find what he was hiding.

And that had been it—the end of Glory and the end of Willow too. Because without Glory, Tara couldn’t be healed. Willow wouldn’t accept it—nearly destroyed the Watchers Council trying to find ways to reverse the damage done to Tara’s mind. She’d sucked up the magic from their books and it hadn’t been enough. She’d sought help from darker sources, and when that hadn’t worked, she’d sucked them dry too. Then she’d visited local covens for help, increasingly unstable but unwilling to accept that there was no help for Tara. The coven had been sympathetic but ultimately unhelpful, and in her rage she’d consumed their magic too. Whether or not she’d known she was leaving them for dead was anyone’s guess—Buffy, Spike, and Wright had arrived at the scene too late, finding only hollow husks of what had once been people.

The power she’d consumed left her connected to the world in ways no other witch had ever been—and her grieving soul had been a homing beacon for the pain of grieving people everywhere. Overwhelmed, Willow had decided to end the world, end the suffering, so she wouldn’t have to live with her pain and no one else would, either.

That was the first and only time Buffy ever cursed Spike for turning her into a vampire—even though it hadn’t been his choice. Willow was out in the sunlight, accumulating enough energy to destroy the world from the inside out, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Instead, she, Spike, and Dawn were hunkered down like civilians while others did the work. It had been a different kind of hell than the one she’d endured at Wolfram and Hart—there she’d been powerless and here she’d had all kinds of power but no way to use it.

Except the world hadn’t ended. The ground had trembled and the skies had opened, and for a moment it had seemed like all would be lost…but it didn’t end. Xander saved the day.

Then the Watchers Council had called. Something about the Ministry of Magic. Containing Willow’s power, helping her learn—

“Oh my god,” Buffy gasped, grasping at her head. “Oh my god.”

When he spoke, his voice was weak and shaky. “Buffy?”

Tears filled her eyes and she looked at him. He seemed so far away then—she reached for him, grounding herself when her fingers slid over his hand. “Do you…?”

Spike was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “All just flashed through me. Everythin’…”

“My mom.” The wound was open and raw, like a bone that had healed only to be shattered all over again. A sob tore off her lips. “Oh god…”

Spike had her gathered in his arms the next second, even though she could tell he still felt a bit wobbly, himself. “I know, love. I know.”

“Why?” She shuddered. “It’s like a door unlocked and everything just… Why did it all come back?”

There was nothing for a moment. Then, in a growl, Spike said, “You know why.”

And that was the worst part. She did.

Willow had done another spell.

“How?” she choked, clinging to Spike like he was her lifeline. “I thought…the rings…”

“Dunno,” Spike replied as he tightened his arms around her. “Could be that the rings don’t prevent real memories from returnin’, just new ones from bein’ planted.” He kissed her brow. “Sounds…possible, right?”

But Buffy didn’t respond, had nothing to respond with. She shook her head, images and scenes from a forgotten past whipping through her mind, and losses she’d never had the chance to grieve weighing her down.

“Willow,” she said a moment later. “She has to be stopped.”

Spike didn’t say anything, just growled.

The words barely made sense to her but they felt right. Every time Willow encountered a problem, her response was to address it with magic. From not being able to cope with her own failure and grief to this, returning the memories that had been ripped away. Doing it without consideration of what it’d do to others. Thinking only of herself.

She had to be stopped.

But god, Buffy didn’t know how.

*~*~*

Whatever else, Wesley wasn’t an idiot. Sabrina had known that right off about him—that and a number of other things. And she’d known, being that he wasn’t an idiot, that this day would likely come sooner rather than later. The only memories she’d altered had been of his traumatic past, nothing to do with the world around them—the world to which she was fast becoming addicted.

If Toadmore knew she’d made a habit of frequenting places like Caritas, she’d be out more than her job. She might be out her mind. Or her life. While the government had become less barbaric over the course of the twentieth and into the twenty-first century, government employees—those people who ought to know better—were still susceptible to worst of all possible punishments.

Another reason coming here was stupid.

“A witch?” Sabrina asked, plastering on a wide smile. “I can’t decide if I should be flattered or insulted.”

Wesley arched an eyebrow. “I take that as a yes. What I don’t understand is why you’d keep something like that from me.” He waved at the bar around them. “As you can tell, I’m not exactly prejudicial. In fact, one of my close associates is a vampire.”

Yes, she knew. And perhaps the smart thing to do in that moment would have been to continue playing dumb, but Sabrina hadn’t gotten where she was by doing the smart thing. So she sighed and gave a small nod. “All right, yes. I am a witch. And the reason I haven’t been forthcoming about it is that, well, if my employer knew where I was, I’d be in a world of trouble.”

Wesley nodded, his expression not changing. “You’re with MACUSA then?”

She blinked. “How—”

“I know Harry Potter. Not well, but well enough. And Willow Rosenberg—I’ve known her for years. Though she isn’t like your traditional witch, as I understand it.” He offered a flat smile. “Willow lives here in LA. Potter and his wife, plus their friends, also temporarily relocated State-side to help her navigate some complexities involving both the United States’ and Britain’s magical government.” He tilted his drink on the table, eying the contents. “I suppose you could say I know the signs.”

“The signs of what?”

“Well, for one thing, your wand is sticking out of your handbag.”

Sabrina blanched and looked down, mortified to see he was right. “Oh my god, I’ve lost my mind,” she muttered, stuffing it back. “That party must have taken it out of me.”

“The party you attended because of Sam Seaborn, I presume?”

Great. It got worse.

When Wesley smiled this time, there was something warm in his eyes. “I am well aware of the governor’s connection to the magical community.”

“Well, keep your voice down. No one else is.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“I’m the witch who performed the memory modification charm on him. Not to mention your partner, Mr. Wright, his wife, his niece and nephew, Mr. Charles Gunn, the human nurse who works with you, as well as Mr. Seaborn’s associates.” She pressed her lips together. “I was supposed to do the same to the Winchester brothers, but that order never came.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Wesley blinked. “What sort of memory modification charm did you put on them?”

“MACUSA policy is that anyone outside of the magical community must remain ignorant to its existence. Particularly high-profile NoMajes, such as the governor and his associates. But even those like you, who…well, have lived in the _real _world.” She felt her cheeks warm. “That much I didn’t know at the time—I didn’t know NoMaj people like you existed. Otherwise I very much doubt I would have removed Mr. Wright’s memories, along with his family’s.”

Wesley frowned, and a dark shudder went through her body.

“You removed Wright’s memories?”

“Yes. I thought he had been compromised by Ms. Rosenberg, Potter, and the Weasleys. It wasn’t until I did some digging that I discovered he was inducted into the magical world fifteen years ago when—”

“His wife was butchered by Darla.” Wesley nodded, but the concern in his eyes didn’t abate. “Sabrina…might we continue this conversation elsewhere?”

It was the opening she’d been secretly waiting for ever since he’d walked away from her that night, but not whispered in the manner she’d wanted. If anything, her trepidation kicked up a notch or twenty.

But none so much as when he continued.

“You see, I don’t think anything has been modified at all. Except for Wright’s attitude toward me.”

Her heart jumped. “What do you mean? That can’t be right.”

“Business has been very much of the usual, which, if his mind had been altered, wouldn’t be possible. The only difference I’ve noticed is in how he treats me. He seems…angry.” Wesley looked at her dead-on. “And I believe you might know the reason why.”

*~*~*

She’d thought it couldn’t get worse. Goddess, what an idiot she’d been.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them. Any of them. The witches whose lives she’d claimed. The watchers she’d wounded. Tara blinking at her with vague recognition, saying her name in that sweet, naïve manner as though she were a child. Because that was what Glory had reduced her to—a toddler stuck in a grown woman’s body.

And then there was Tara herself. That first meeting on the campus of UC Sunnydale. The burgeoning feelings that had both frightened and excited her. The knowledge, deep down, before she’d been able to admit it to herself, that she didn’t view Tara as another friend. That the sensations she’d evoked had been much stronger, more passionate, and life-changing.

There was Oz, coming back from his search in Tibet. Her wonderful, sweet werewolf whom, over the course of his departure, she’d managed to fall out of love with. That last heartbreaking conversation in his van, when he’d told her he’d been foolish to think she’d wait for him. When she’d told him that part of her always would be—unsurprised if she turned a corner and saw him again sometime down the line, if ever their paths were to cross. But that she had fallen in love with Tara and she wasn’t the same witch he’d left behind.

How Tara had made her feel. How much she’d loved her—in a hard, probably unhealthy sort of way. How she’d been Willow’s everything and they had fought the day Glory had ripped her away, fought because Tara hadn’t understood, hadn’t appreciated, just how much Willow truly was hers. Had thought that perhaps Willow would hop back on the bus to boy-town once her college experimentation days were behind her.

And wasn’t that what she’d done? Resurrected Oz’s memory to replace the memory of the woman she loved. Jumped firmly back to driving stick—entangled in a relationship with the governor of freaking California. A man with whom she shared a child. _A child._

_Sam._

Willow was curled in on herself, her arms wrapped around her legs, the pain in her chest so intense she would have thought someone was trying to pry it open had she not known better.

There was a reason she’d buried these emotions. These memories.

All that was left of her was hurt.

*~*~*

Faith had never been an _eight hours of sleep _kinda gal, even when she tried, though that was mostly due to the hours she kept. Therefore she wasn’t surprised when she awoke sometime close to six in the morning and couldn’t find her way back to sleep. Also, she’d just been snoozing for two months. Maybe her body was all caught up.

She glanced over at Dean, who was conked, jaw slack, a bit of drool trickling down his chin. And despite herself, she grinned. She kind of liked this ducky, but that much she’d keep to herself.

Either she’d worn Dean out good—which was always a possibility—or he was a hard sleeper, because he didn’t so much as twitch as she made her way out of bed and plucked loose garments off the floor. The sweats Sam had given her the night before, along with the AC/DC shirt and the sneakers he’d stolen from his mother’s clothing supply. Odds were that sneaking out were against the rules—Sam had been rather adamant on her not going anywhere solo, but she was hungry and last time she’d checked, she answered to no one in this place. Of course, a gal was short on cash—recent deadness and all—but she figured as long as she brought something back for her bed-warmer, he wouldn’t miss the twenty she pulled out of his wallet.

And if he did, well, his loss. Faith was so not into cheap guys.

The town she’d been brought back to life in was about as small as small could get, which made the previous night’s excursion in the cemetery all the more eyebrow-raising. There were a selection of vehicles outside, one being the sweet Impala she’d busted through the night before, but she had enough energy that she didn’t feel the need to waste time searching for keys. A good walk did the body good.

A half hour later, Faith let herself back into the bunker, holding a large sack full of greasy, artery-clogging goodness and a monster cup of coffee. She stopped short when she saw Dean seated at the main table, looking ruffled and a little bruised but otherwise satisfied. When their eyes connected, his shoulders dropped just enough that she knew he’d wondered if she’d just up and split and was glad to see she hadn’t.

Faith glanced down at herself, wrinkling her nose. “Priority number two—get me some new threads. Preferably heavy on the leather.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Good. ’Cause this body ain’t for hiding behind baggy tees.” She tossed the sack of grease onto the table and took the seat across from him. “Pick your poison.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up. “Aww, honey. You bought me breakfast.”

“Actually, you bought _me _breakfast.” She shifted, withdrew the wad of singles remaining from the stolen twenty from her pocket, and slid them across the table. “There’s your change. And don’t you even think about taking both breakfast burritos, motherfucker.”

Dean snickered, peering into the bag. “Looks like I bought the entire goddamn house breakfast. How much shit did you get?”

She reached over and snatched the bag back once Dean had claimed a breakfast burrito and a box of hash-browns. “Girl hasn’t had a decent meal in two months and if you didn’t get the memo last night, I go through a lot of calories.” She unwrapped a breakfast sandwich and took a monstrous bite. “Fuck, this is the shit,” she said around her mouthful.

When she glanced up, Dean was just looking at her, a curious grin on his face.

“What?”

“Pretty sure I’ve never seen a girl eat like that.”

“Like she ain’t allergic to food?”

“Like no one’s watching.” He motioned to his mouth. “You got something there.”

Faith smirked and swallowed, then dragged her hand across her mouth in the least ladylike way she could manage. “Ducky, I got no one here to impress.” To emphasize this point, she stuffed the rest of her breakfast sandwich into her mouth and held his gaze as she chomped her way through it.

“I really shouldn’t find that hot,” Dean muttered after a moment. “You’re kinda disgusting right now.”

Faith shrugged and snatched a second breakfast sandwich from the bag. “Like I said, no one to impress.”

Which, naturally, had her thoughts going back to Rosalie. Her stomach tightened.

“So,” Dean said a moment later before popping a bite of hash-brown into his mouth, “gotta ask, being that I’ve done the dead thing a time or a thousand, do you remember anything?”

She arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean, you’ve done the dead thing?”

“Occupational hazard.” A shadow fell across his face. “Jetlag from Hell is a bitch.”

Faith took a bite of her sandwich, forcing her thoughts back, something she’d managed to avoid doing since bursting into being in the back of the car. Mostly because she wasn’t sure that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing, strange as it had been.

“White hallway,” she said. “Like a super white hallway.”

Dean blinked, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Pretty sure it was a fever dream.” She wrinkled her nose. “Some guy was there, dressed like a stoner. Said a bunch of shit that made fuck all sense.”

Dean leaned forward. “What kinda shit?”

“Something about a redemption arc and how my story wasn’t over, whatever the fuck that meant.” Faith shrugged and took another bite of sandwich. “Wasn’t like the first time I died—don’t remember squat from that, but this time was the real deal, so maybe my fucked up head was trying to make sense of it. Who knows?”

“Faith.”

She glanced up.

“This stoner…did he have a name?”

She thought back. The encounter with the stoner wasn’t entirely fresh, but enough that she remembered the spark in the guy’s eyes and his odd enthusiasm. And yeah, he had said his name.

Then it hit her, and her eyes went wide.

“Pretty sure the bracelet fried my brain,” Faith muttered, tossing her sandwich onto the wrapper. “’Cause I think he said he was God.” God as a stoner. She snickered. “Except that ain’t right. He gave me a name.”

“Chuck?”

There was no way she’d have landed on that name on her own, but the second she heard it, she knew it was right. “That was it! He…” Faith paused, frowning. “Wait…how the fuck do you know about this?”

Dean released a long breath. “Well, I think I know who brought you back. Good news? Ain’t tied to evil.”

“And what’s the bad news?”

“He’s a real fucking dick.”


	11. Chapter 11

_Oral Latin examinations were words that could strike fear into the heart of any young student. Knowing after the presentation you would be forced to publicly partake in a question and answer exchange was the stuff of nightmares. _

_Nick had vomited twice since waking up. _

_The classroom applauded when Adam Hayes finished his exam with Professor Melton. Nick wiggled in his seat with dread that only one student was to go before his turn. Hunter would follow Hollingsworth in the alphabetical order of names in this particular class._

_Nick had been too distracted by his mental recitation of the life of Tiberius Claudius Nero to have heard the first wave of commotion outside the room. Once the chatter picked up among the children did Nick look up and notice Professor Melton’s frightened expression._

_There were screams coming from somewhere close. The loud crashes and sounds of shattering glass could be heard through the closed door._

_“Listen very closely,” Melton said quietly. “You must all exit and head toward the east gardens. Do not go toward the library and do not go toward the Council Room.”_

_That was all they were told before Melton rushed the door and took off down the hall. The exact way he had just warned against._

_Most of the children heeded the instruction without thought. Nick had every intention of following orders, but just as he walked out the room, Ashley Lockmiller tore off toward the west._

_“What are you doing?” Adam snapped. “He said go east!”_

_Ashley never thought rules applied to her. Her father was one of the Council’s chairmen and she always was quick to whip it out for personal advantage. “My father will tell me what’s going on.”_

_Another loud commotion came from the down the hall somewhere near the library by the proximity. Adam shook his head and started to run to the east gardens. _

_Which was exactly as Nick should have done. Maybe it was curiosity or maybe the fact that despite her terrible personality, his teenage libido still found her attractive, he found himself following her down the hall._

_Once they rounded the corner and made it to the outside of the library both slowed their pace. Everything was broken. The furniture, the display cases and even the pictures on the walls had been destroyed. There were broken people as well. Some were running away while some could only hobble. Some weren’t moving at all. All seemed injured in one fashion or another._

_Another set of screams erupted in the library. This with a flash of light that came out the entrance. Nick saw Melton then. He was poised in the doorway holding up a…_

_“Blimey!” Nick whispered to Ashley. “Melton’s a wizard?”_

_But Ashley hasn’t heard. Or perhaps she hadn’t cared. Her eyes were focused on the swarm of people rushing about in every direction. As she started to slowly move toward the library, Nick reached out and grabbed her arm. “We need to go,” he reminded her._

_“My father!” she cried._

_“He’d want you to be safe.”_

_He’d never forget the nasty look she cast toward him as she jerked her arm back. “You don’t understand, Orphan Nicky.”_

_Fuck if she wasn’t such a bitch. Like most of the posh kids he lived with, they all liked to remind themselves that he was the outsider. He was the boy without a home._

_He let he go, but stupidly followed in some delusional for of chivalry. Ashley made it to the door and attempted to slip past Professor Melton, but with his windless arm he shoved her behind him. Nick came up as close to her back as he dared and tried to peek inside the room._

_Expecting a demon or a monster, he was shocked to find a woman. The bright light he had seen before was all around her, radiating from her. But the scariest part wasn’t the blood and bodies that surrounded her or even the tattered and decimated books that covered every inch of floor. It was her eyes._

_Her jet black eyes._

_He only saw them a second as she looked toward Melton. He must have tried something with his wand because in an instant a red flash of light bounded toward them and he felt himself flying. Pain seared his left arm but he was hitting the wall across the hall and everything went dark._

_He hadn’t any idea how much time passed before he began to hear voices. There weren’t screams anymore, but still some shouts and panic. He tried to open his eyes to see, but they stung as something got in his eyes. Fumbling for his face with his right hand, he found he was covered in something wet and sticky._

_“Hey! We got a live one!” He felt someone, a man from the voice, come up beside him and grab his left arm. When he recoiled in pain, the man swore softly and let go._

_“Harris! Gimme your jacket!” The voice shouted so close that Nick flinched. Then he felt cloth rubbing across his face. “Fuck, you’re a kid?” the man said once the stickiness had been wiped away._

_“I-I’m fifteen,” Nick stammered. His head was spinning and nothing was truly in focus. Even his own voice sounded miles away._

_“Jesus, my daughter’s bigger than you.”_

_Nick didn’t know how to respond. “Okay.”_

_“Buffy!” The man shouted again, causing Nick’s head to throb. “She took down kids!”_

_“I know,” a blonde woman said as she came up. She was crying. _

_That’s when Nick looked first at the blood-soaked jacket the man was holding. Then his eyes trailed further and saw Ashley._

_She’d been ripped to shreds, her body a mangled mess except her face. Her once beautiful face was twisted in horror as her lifeless eyes stared blankly toward the wall._

_“Come on,” the man said, hoisting him off the ground in his arms. “Fuck, you weigh more than my daughter.”_

_“I’m fourteen,” he admitted like it mattered. “Until Saturday.”_

_“Gotcha,” the man said absently. “Got a party planned, kid?”_

_“A party?”_

_The guy looked down with concern. “Party. Presents and cake and shit. You got a concussion, but seriously?”_

_Nick blinked, trying to remember. “I’ve never had a party.”_

_“You know what cake is?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Presents?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Friends and balloons and shit?”_

_“Y-yes.”_

_“A party. You gonna have a party?”_

_Again, he was confused. “I’ve never had a party.”_

_The man stopped and Nick felt himself being lowered down. He found he was on a table in what served as their dining hall. There were other people here, some lying on tables and some sitting in chairs. _

_“This one’s fourteen. He’s got something wrong with the left arm and a bad concussion. Pretty sure most of that blood isn’t his though.”_

_Nick watched the man give him a nod before turning toward the door. A woman then poised herself above him, holding a wand up toward his face. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll have you fixed in a jiffy.”_

Nick awoke with a jolt, bolting up to a sitting position as he desperately gasped for air. Nausea and panic has enveloped his senses.

“Nick?” Rosalie whimpered. Her voice was weak and trembling.

“Rose, I—“

She clumsily grasped his arm in the dark, fumbling with some need for physical contact. “Willow. Nick, Willow tried to end the world.”

“I know.” He clutched her hand and held it tight against his chest. “I know.”

*~*~*

He figured it out.

Faith was like one of those Hardee’s ads he’d watched on TV. The sexy chick in a bikini who sat on the car hood and ate a burger while letting the sauce and toppings drizzle all over her hot body.

Taking an absent bite of his burrito, he watched her shovel food in her face and realized if she was eating a burger right now he’d possibly bust a nut.

_Pie._

Faith. A bed. Pie. “Fuck,” he murmured to himself.

She looked up at him with eyes that told him she knew he liked the view. “That boner under the table for me or my burrito?” She took another bite.

He gave a goofy grin. “You and pie actually.”

She cocked a brow. “Am I pie?” she muttered with a mouth full of half-chewed food.

“No. You _and _pie.”

She swallowed. “Is the pie like a sex thing? Whip cream and chocolate sauce kinda game?”

He paused. Damn he hadn’t thought of that. His fantasy just when up several notches. Unfortunately before he could explain his new idea, they were interrupted.

“Buffy?” Giles exclaimed as he burst into the kitchen.

Dean noted the way Faith’s expression immediately hardened. “Sorry, G. Just the disappointing step-slayer.”

“Faith?” He said in equal parts surprise and dismay. “I’m so sorry I never got to speak to you earlier, but right now I speak to Buffy about an event with Willow some years ago in London.”

Faith nodded. “The whole apocalypse thing. Gotcha.” She picked up her drink cup. “Hey man, congrats on the new girlfriend. Did Zack cry when you dumped his mom?”

Dean noticed for the first time his mother had been right behind Giles. Laughing, he snatched her cup and sucked a drink from the straw. “Dude, that’s not his girlfriend. That’s my mom.”

Faith gave him a condescending smile. “_Dude_, they both ran out here in their nighties and she’s in a Sunnydale High tee. Seems to me that you and Sammy are getting sisters.” With that, she reached over and snagged the cup from his limp grasp.

“Nuh uh,” he responded before turning his wide eyes to his mother. “Tell her nuh uh.”

“Dean,” Giles said with a heavy sigh. “Now is not the time for—“

“You’re not my dad!” Dean spat like a raging child. He couldn’t help if his emotional maturity concerning his mother was a little stunted. He’d only had about six years of practice.

“You tell him, Ducky,” Faith teased.

“I just unlocked the memories behind Willow’s downfall in London,” Giles declared before looking at Faith. “You remembered?”

Faith shrugged. “I wasn’t there, but I was with a Council guy down in Panama doing some rehab shit. Didn’t get many details. Nobody really talked about it after so I figured you all just forgave and forgot. Another free pass to those who weren’t me.”

“Forgot, yes. But, no Faith. I don’t believe it was of voluntary volition.”

“Meaning what?” Mary asked.

“Meaning someone, Willow I presume, first blocked those memories and now has chosen to release them.”

“Why does this sound like a very bad thing?” Dean asked.

Faith looked at him and he caught the hint of fear in her steely eyes. “Because whenever Red plays with magic, shit goes wrong. For a good guy, she’s really bad.”

“Yes,” Giles agreed solemnly. “I believe you’re right.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was the cracking sound that did it—jolted him from the uneasy sleep he’d suffered through to awake.

The room went sideways when Sam opened his eyes. The sort of sideways that made him instantly seasick, and did things to his stomach that made him wish for death. He rolled over and found himself in the middle of the mattress, on top of the blankets and fully clothed, and not entirely sure where he was. The air didn’t smell like baby formula and poop, which was pretty much the norm these days. And while it wasn’t entirely quiet, the sounds that reached him weren’t of the Josh-and-Donna variety.

He blinked again and again wished he hadn’t. The room-tipping trick had only intensified.

“Oh god,” he moaned, rolling over again, this time with purpose. He needed to get to the bathroom before whatever the hell he’d poured down his throat came up and went all over the bed. Not that the rolling helped all that much, but it was better than trying his legs at the moment.

Somehow, some way, Sam found the end of the bed. He peered over the side to gauge the distance to the floor, which gave him an immediate sense of vertigo, and then the party was over. He gagged and barfed up what had to be the contents of the mini-bar onto the floor. It went on an indecently long time, his stomach in full riot-stage now, and not satisfied with just whatever he’d consumed the previous night. No, it seemed to want payment in interest. There was every possibility that a corndog he’d eaten at the local fair when he was thirteen years old made an appearance.

The only good thing about throwing up was the immediate relief it gave the stomach. When at last the spasms finished, Sam moaned pitifully and flopped onto his back, sweaty and with a terrible taste in his mouth, but also relaxed for what seemed like the first time in centuries. He blinked at the ceiling as details about the previous night began to trickle in. Not that he was sure he wanted them to. Whatever had driven him to drink that much had to be terrible.

“Feeling better?”

Sam yelped and bolted upright so fast he thought he might toss up whatever was left of his digestive system. Of all the things he could have imagined happening this morning, finding Willow Rosenberg in his hotel room had to be at the bottom of a very long list.

“Willow,” he said, smiling somewhat goofily, even as the clouds in his mind fought to part. He knew something was wrong—she shouldn’t be here, and things weren’t okay, and she was probably the reason he’d woken up by vomiting the summation of twenty-years worth of meals—he couldn’t kill the part of him that launched over the moon whenever he thought of her. The part that was a smitten kid with a crush.

Of course, the goofy high didn’t last long. No sooner had he said her name did the mental levies break and the flood of awful that had tagged him last night flood inward. The smile faded from his lips at once.

“Willow,” he said again. His stomach gave a mild lurch.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been a vibrant beam of pure energy and light with an infectious, somewhat mischievous smile, dazzling eyes, and fire-red hair. It had been difficult to imagine anything bad could happen to a woman so darn bubbly. She had seemed the type of person who could take all the bad in the world and twist it into good.

The past two months, Sam hadn’t seen much of Willow. Hadn’t let himself. Yes, she’d been by the house for supervised visits with Oz, but he’d done his best to make himself scarce. Too painful looking at her, not knowing how to help but being desperate to. And yeah, there had been anger as well. Anger at her and himself and the situation and a thousand other things.

The woman sitting curled up in the chair across from the bed looked nothing like the Willow from his memories—neither the bubbly girl he’d met nor the shattered woman he’d left at the Hyperion. Her pale skin was almost waxy, her vivacious hair flat and dull. Large circles framed her eyes and her face looked thin, almost gaunt. She looked at him through eyes, which had always been bursting with life, that were vacant. Lights are on but nobody’s home, as Josh would say. Like someone had parked Willow here, then up and left the premises.

_Vacant_ wasn’t even the right word. The right word was _dead_.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, then winced at the taste of day-old road-kill. “I’m…gonna go brush my teeth.”

Willow jerked her head forward in an imitation of a nod but otherwise didn’t speak. He looked at her a moment longer before planting his feet on the floor and forcing his wobbly legs toward the bathroom. As he plodded by the mess he’d made evacuating the contents of his stomach, it vanished. Presto. There, stinking up the room one second, and gone the next. One would think he was beyond being surprised by magic anymore, but he wasn’t. Especially when it came without a bang or a light show. Just casual, like it didn’t matter.

Except it always mattered, especially with Willow. Though his head was pounding and thinking at the moment hurt, Sam forced himself to replay the events that had led to his rather spectacular bender the night before as he scrubbed the vomit taste from his mouth. The high he’d been on and the hard plummet that had followed, discovering that Willow blamed him for their current situation. That the words he’d spoken two months earlier, when he’d been reeling as much as she had, hadn’t been the lifeline he’d intended.

Then drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. And…

He paused and watched his cheeks go red in the mirror.

That Jessica woman had propositioned him. Were it not for Toby, there was every chance Willow would have caught him this morning with a woman in his bed. Not that he’d had sex on the brain at all last night, but he knew how agreeable he was when drunk.

Thank god for Toby.

Sam stumbled back into the main room, feeling a bit more human but a thousand times more confused. He half-expected Willow to have disappeared but she was still there, looking little more than dead.

“How…how did you get in here?” He was fairly certain Toby would have made sure to let no one in his room, even and especially the estranged mother of his child.

“Apparated,” Willow said, her voice as dull and lifeless as the rest of her.

That explained the pop that had awakened him. Sam had become intimately familiar with how witches and wizards got from place to place over the past few months. Hermione was usually good enough to send a text message before she made an appearance, though.

“You haven’t been here before,” Sam said.

“No,” Willow agreed.

“Isn’t that…dangerous?”

He knew the answer, based on those conversations with Hermione. _Destination _and _deliberation _were two of the three D’s of Apparating—the person doing it needed to be able to visualize their destination.

At that, Willow turned and made eye-contact, and what he saw—or more accurately didn’t see—there chilled him to the bone.

Then something else slid into place—the missing piece from last night.

“You did it, didn’t you?” he asked hoarsely. “The spell to remember.”

“I remember.”

“Willow… Whatever you’re going through, I can help. We can get through it together.” He paused. “I thought I was doing this the way you wanted—the way that was best for you. When I took Oz, it wasn’t because I didn’t want… It was because—”

“No. You were right. About everything.” She turned again, the motion slight but enough to pull her eyes off his again. “I thought knowing would be better. That I could understand it—what went wrong before.” A beat and he watched her eyes go shiny with tears. “What went wrong before was _me_.”

The heartbreak in her voice nearly did him in. Sam didn’t realize he was moving until he knelt beside her, his heart in his throat. “You went through something…unimaginable,” he said. “But I know, Willow… I know you were never the problem.”

She stared at him for a long moment, just stared.

Then she lifted her hand to his face, and for a second he thought this might be it. Why he thought that, he didn’t know, only that he’d thought about this, her, nonstop for two months. Wondering and hoping and living in a world between worlds.

Despite whatever she believed, Sam had never given up on her. Not once.

She ran her fingers through the hair at his brow, along his sides, and he let his eyes drift close. He might still feel like a human garbage disposal from last night, but Willow—

Then her fingers pressed against his temple, a bit too hard for a loving caress. Sam’s eyes flew open as memories began flooding his head. Terrible memories. Memories that weren’t his.

Memories that…

_Oh god…_

*~*~*

“Wow…and this chick’s your friend?”

Faith faked a cough to hide her snicker, but didn’t miss the wink Dean threw her way. Nor did she miss the way her chest tightened at that wink. Maybe she could have ignored it—fuck knows she wanted to—but the fact that the boy had been slobbering over her as she’d decimated a breakfast burrito was heady knowledge. Most guys she unleashed her true self around were the hit-it-and-quit-it types. Except Nick, but he didn’t count, because they’d been thrown together by circumstance and beggars can’t be choosers.

Granted, thinking of Nick made her think of Rosalie—she’d done a decent job of ignoring the both of them as they’d padded into the main hall. Not that Nick was necessarily on her shit-list, but she didn’t want the baby slayer to develop a complex over eye-contact. Not when there were bigger and apparently redheaded fish to fry.

“We knew all this thanks to Hermione Granger,” Giles said. And true to form, the guy was in full glasses-polish mode. Though that might have been due to the fact that when Dean wasn’t eye-fucking her, he was eye-beating-the-crap out of the old Watcher. Apparently her new bedmate had mommy issues.

_Fun._

“I’m still not used to hearing that name spoken in reference to a real person,” Mary muttered before giving Giles a soft smile. “I might have to meet these people to believe they exist.”

“Mom, you were dead for most of Harry Potter. Keep it in your pants,” Dean snapped.

Faith snickered again but didn’t bother to hide it this time. Nor did she keep from beaming a brilliant grin at Dean when he aimed his glare at her.

“Yes, ahh, well, moving on…” Giles polished his glasses harder, bright red tingeing his cheeks. “Suffice to say that, this morning, it seems that we who were affected have all had our memories restored.” He glanced around the table where the occupants of the bunker had gathered. All save Buffy, whom, according to Spike, was currently decimating the training room Nick had established for Rosalie. The occasional crash or shatter of glass seemed to support the story. “I need to know who among us now remembers things they did not remember this time yesterday.”

One by one, hands went up. Spike, Wright, and Dawn were obvious, but Faith was a bit surprised to see Nick’s hand shoot skyward. Rosalie, too—the kid wouldn’t have been near ground zero when all that mess happened. Zack just shuffled a bit, looking uncomfortable, like he should be joining the party but didn’t meet the specs.

She didn’t miss the narrowed glances Dawn and Wright threw her, either, when she failed to raise her hand.

“And we know Buffy did,” Giles said, his words punctuated by the timely sound of something thumping to the ground.

Nick sighed and looked to Spike. “I just got that room the way I want it.”

Spike shrugged and fished a cigarette out of his pocket. “From the sound of things, you didn’t cough up the dosh for the really good stuff. Might be the Slayer’s sparin’ Bite Size from breakin’ her neck on some wobbly piece of rot. Oughta be thankin’ her.”

“So you don’t have new memories,” Dawn said bluntly, glaring at Faith. “And we’re sure she’s not evil?”

Faith shrugged. “Did evil for a while. Grew out of it. And I’m guessin’ my mind didn’t get fucked with because I wasn’t part of the little Scooby Gang then.”

“The what gang?” Dean asked.

“The Scoobies,” Sam answered, then turned a bit red himself when his brother arched an eyebrow. “That’s what Buffy’s friends called themselves before.”

“Also, I wasn’t anywhere near London, like I said. Heard about the after, though.” Faith glanced to Nick. “You were, though. But you didn’t know any of the Slayerettes then, did you?”

Though Nick had his gaze on the ground, he seemed to know she was speaking to him and shook his head. “I was fourteen and at the Watchers Council. It was right before my birthday. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do.” He shook hard, balling his hands into fists. “She…destroyed… They sent us away. We had exams that day. My professor told us to run and I was going to, but then Ashley…bloody stupid bird…went toward the screams. I followed to keep her from losing her head and…”

“Shit,” Wright breathed, his eyes widening. There was something in his face Faith had never seen before where Nick was concerned—really, where anyone but his own kid was concerned. He was staring at the guy like he’d never seen him before. “You’re…the kid who’d never had a party?”

Nick’s eyes went wide too and his face flamed red.

Rosalie glanced from her boyfriend to her father. “What did I miss?”

“Shit,” Wright said again, shaking his head. “Shit, I…” He dragged a hand down his face.

“Nick,” Rosalie whispered loudly, but he gave her a warning look and she dropped it.

“I guess I don’t understand why this is a big deal,” Sam said, holding up his hands when everyone turned to glare at him. “I mean—yes, obviously, it’s a big deal, but didn’t we learn about this two months ago when Giles arrived?”

“Not the problem, is it?” Spike snapped. “Problem is we remember it now. All of it. Feelin’ something’s a bit different than knowin’ it.”

Dawn nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. “I…didn’t know what happened to Mom. Neither of us did. Until last night.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Faith said. “Willow offed your mom?”

“Joyce was getting treatment for a brain tumor,” Giles said before Dawn could snap at her. “She had an aneurism. No one could have predicted it. But in blocking out our memories, it seems Willow also stole the memory of what became of Joyce.”

“Not only that,” said someone from behind him. Buffy came into view, her hair a mess and her eyes haunted, “but it…feels like it just happened. We didn’t get to grieve her. Or Tara.” She nodded at Mary, holding Sam’s gaze. “Imagine the pain of losing your mom hitting you in the middle of the night without warning like it was the first time.” She pressed her lips together and turned to Giles. “But it’s more than that. Willow… The kind of spell she’d need to do to unlock these memories isn’t on the small side.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s rather large…and dangerous.”

“She’s messing with people’s minds, Giles. And this isn’t the first time. Spike and I have these rings that should keep us immune, but what if she decides to do this again? Or something else? Something larger? What if…”

But she didn’t seem to be able to say what she was thinking, and stopped herself.

Faith had no such reservations. “What if she goes full on evil again? That’s what you’re all too chicken-shit to say. The witch leveled the Watchers Council. Killed thirteen there. Also life-sucked fifty-some-odd witches from a local coven and that wasn’t enough. The Watchers hit her with everything they had, and when that didn’t work, they called in the big guns. Wizards who’d fought their own big bad came out and hammered her with everything they had but their magic wasn’t like hers and that didn’t work either. You know what did? Fucking Xander Harris.”

“Well, you’d know,” Dawn muttered.

Faith rolled her eyes. “All right, Pipsqueak, I know you got beef with me but really? This ain’t the time.”

“Excuse me for not forgiving she who tried to kill my sister.”

“Dawn,” Buffy said with that undeniable Buffy authority, “Faith is right. This isn’t the time.”

Dawn rounded on her sister then, and for a moment, she looked all of fourteen years old again—like the version in Faith’s memories, even if said memories were another sort that didn’t actually exist. “Well, look what happened with Willow! Yes, the memories were gone, but we did know something had happened. There was enough truth in it—hell, she got the job at Hogwarts because she came close to ending the world. And we’ve just been okay with that, even not knowing what exactly they were talking about, just because Wolfram and Hart had done something to our memories. Except it _wasn’t _Wolfram and Hart, Buffy, and you were too scared to admit that. You let her go and she’s out there doing god-knows-what again. Haven’t you learned your lesson?” She glanced back to Faith. “People don’t change. So no. I won’t shut up.”

“Nibblet,” Spike said, his voice shaking, “watch it.”

“Oh, get over—”

“You spout off like that again and I’ll rip out your tongue,” he snapped. “Dunno what’s got your knickers in a twist about Faith is and I don’t give a rot, but you’re standin’ here because people did change. Even when it went against their bloody natures. Think a hundred years ago I ever figured I’d be in a room with three sodding slayers that I don’t fancy killing? Ripper’s done his share of bad magic, Zangy used to be a useless prat—”

“Thanks,” both Zacks intoned, apparently unsure which he was referencing.

“—and your sis, when I met her, she was sixteen sodding years old. ‘Bout the age you’re actin’ now, point of fact. If you don’t think she changed from then—”

“Spike…” Buffy was at her vampire’s side, tugging at his hand. “It’s—”

“She came after me!” Dawn screamed, effectively cutting off whatever her sister had been about to say.

“I did not!” Faith snapped, affronted. Though honestly she couldn’t remember if she had or not. She knew she’d tied up Joyce at one point and, yeah, she’d shoved Dawn into a closet that night. Only she really hadn’t because there had been no Dawn. So even if she had, she hadn’t.

“Willow,” Dawn clarified, wiping at her face. “Willow came after me. I was how she was going to end the world, Buffy.”

Buffy was shaking her head, though, looking to Spike for support. He looked just as startled. “No, we were hiding with you. It was daylight and—”

“That…that wasn’t me. She…she told me about that. About how Buffy wasn’t coming to save the day because she didn’t know I was in danger. She created a dummy me out of me to fool you—scent and all.” Dawn was shaking so hard now she looked like she might burrow her way through the floor. “She was going to open me up and use me to end the world. That’s when Xander…”

But whatever was left, Dawn couldn’t say. She’d dissolved into tears, folding herself into her sister’s arms. Buffy looked thunderstruck, sort of lost between shock and pure fury. Spike, on the other hand, had let his demon out and stomped up to Giles, eyes blazing.

“You best get Red on a leash,” he snarled. “I mean it, Rupert. She sniffs around here and I’ll tear her to bloody pieces myself.”

Giles was polishing his glasses again, though the color had drained from his face. “Spike, as much as I share your anger, we cannot forget that it’s been ten years—”

“I don’t care,” Buffy said, having extracted herself from Dawn, who was now clinging to a bewildered-looking Sam, apparently having not noticed the scene change. “Spike’s right. _Faith _is right. Willow has all this unchecked power and she just…unlocked that part of herself. We don’t know what it’s doing to her. She has to be stopped. And I have to ask you to do it.”

Giles blinked at her in shock. “Me? Why—”

“Because I don’t trust her Hogwarts friends to do it. They couldn’t stop her from doing this spell and if Faith is right, they weren’t powerful enough to stop her at all the last time. She’s always looked up to you, though.” Buffy shook her head. “And I…can’t. I’m afraid I might actually kill her if I see her. You have to go.”

“I do, too,” Wright said, glancing to Zack. “Willow’s in LA.”

“Kelly,” Zack muttered, his eyes going wide. “The kids…”

Wright nodded, still pale, and glanced back to Faith.

“She’s cool,” Dean interjected, apparently reading the look on his face. “Actually, uhh, before all this started this mornin’, we were talking and I think we solved the mystery of what brought Faith back.”

“You did?” Nick demanded.

“Uhh, yeah.” He looked to his brother, who was still trying to calm Dawn. “It was Chuck, Sammy.”

Sam blinked, but seemed to take this in stride.

“Who the fuck is Chuck?” Wright demanded. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Chuck is the preferred name of God Almighty,” Castiel said. “While he rarely bothers himself with earth, there is precedence for it.” He leveled a look at Dean. “Are you positive it was Chuck?”

Dean glanced back to Faith and nodded. “Go ahead. Tell them what he was like.”

“Looked like a stoner. Jeans, some band T-shirt. Talking about stories and redemption arcs like that was supposed to make sense.”

Castiel nodded. So did Sam. “That sounds like Chuck,” the latter agreed.

“And you’re just now mentioning this?” Wright asked.

“Hey, I thought it was a weird-ass dead dream,” Faith replied. “It was all I remembered and too fucking weird. Who expects Heaven to be a hallway, goddammit?”

“Or for you to go to Heaven,” Nick chimed in, though he was grinning. “So it wasn’t a spell gone wrong. It was…divine intervention.” He turned to Rosalie and smiled softly. “Best possible outcome, love.”

Rosalie looked like she wanted to say something, but Faith wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Or really to be in the same room with her right now. Seemed everything had been worked out and the group scene didn’t require her continued presence, anyway. She shook her head and started down the hall toward Dean’s room.

“Where are you going?” Dean called after her.

“To change and go shopping. Told you, a bitch needs a new wardrobe.” She turned and met his eye. “I’m taking your wallet. Throw up a fight and I’ll take your car, too.”

To her surprise, and utter amusement, a shadow that was no parts amused and all parts serious crossed Dean’s face. “You keep your hands off of Baby, you hear?”

_Baby? _Oh, this was too good.

“Well, when you put it that way, you’re welcome to try and make me,” she replied, then winked and continued on to his room.


	13. Chapter 13

“I need to go to work,” Nick muttered before turning abruptly and swiftly exiting the room. There was too much to process and Faith had the right idea about escaping the situation.

“Nick!” Rosalie called after him. He picked up his pace and went toward their room to grab his keys. He’d worry about changing clothes later. “Wait!” She wasn’t even winded as she caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

Instinctively he jerked himself free, not liking her surprised response. “I need to go.” He paused, keeping his eyes squarely on their feet. “Work.”

“It’s not even nine yet,” she said softly before gently reaching out to him again. “What happened?”

All he could do is shake his head. The memories were too fresh and too raw. “Rose.” He sighed. “Rose, I…I said what happened.”

He knew this answer wouldn’t stick. “There was more. Something with my dad. I’m sorry, but I think I oughta know.”

“Hey,” a different voice called from down the hall.

“Dad,” Rosalie said turning around. Nick cheated and used the opportunity to escape to the bedroom.

Once inside he had to fumble through his dirty jeans to grab his keys and wallet. Turning around, he was surprised to find Zack Wright standing in the doorway, sans his daughter. He dropped his gaze immediately.

“Where—”

“I told her to give us a minute. Suggested she see how bad the training room suffered.”

Nick nodded, focusing on the keys in his palm. He gripped them to the point of pain. “Right. Well, I’m just…stepping out a bit. Check the books and what all.”

“Nick.”

He’d never said his name like that before. Like he gave a fuck. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes to look at Wright.

“Nick, I…I remember. That girl. Those people.” He swallowed audibly. “_You._”

Nick shuffled uncomfortably, releasing a humorless chuckle. “Bet you regret it now, eh? Probably woulda finished the job had you known where we’d end up?”

“No,” he said thickly. “I wouldn’t.” He sighed and took a step inside. “Look, we both gotta lot of shit to process. I got hit with a lot more dark memories than just that day, but fuck! You were a boy and I remember how it _killed_ me inside seeing you two lying there. _Fucking kids_!”

“I was nearly fifteen,” Nick muttered with embarrassment.

Wright gave him a small smirk. “Yeah. Newsflash, son, that’s really not better than fourteen. Just means the hormones are working double time.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t really have anything to say.

“Faith had mentioned in passing you hadn’t had a Brady kinda childhood.”

His face reddened as his embarrassment intensified. “No,” he said curtly.

“It wasn’t your head. You really hadn’t had a party, had you?”

Fuck it all if he got emotional now. He was not about to let this man know how much that bit of life still hurt. Truth was he still hadn’t ever had a birthday party. Not like it really mattered.

“I know I’ve been hard on you.” Wright’s eyes widened slightly when Nick involuntarily snickered in response. “Too hard. I let myself focus on the age thing when Rosie was right. You two are pretty close all things considered. And I know you love her because you already told me. Plus you named your place after her.” He flashed a grin. “Cheesy as fuck, but I know she loved it.” He paused as his expression darkened. “What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. Not just for the shit in London, but for the shit here too. I’m gonna head out here in a bit and I know my girl is protected. She’s got a team of badasses at her back, but more than that, she’s got you.”

“Thank you,” Nick choked. He was dangerously close to letting the tears in his eyes fall. “For saving me.” He swallowed. “For Rosalie.”

Both men were way more emotional than either felt comfortable with. Nick coughed and looked down as Wright cleared his throat and shifted his feet.

“If you tell anyone aside from my daughter about this, I’m denying it and punching you again.”

“Obviously,” Nick nodded.

“And I still am okay with giving you that shiner. My girl was just seventeen, you know what I mean.”

Nick tried and failed to hide a smirk at the lyrics from his number last night. “Yes, sir.”

“Be good to her, Nick. And don’t let her boss you around too much. She can be a bit of a bully.”

“I promise.”

Wright gave a nod and made his leave. From the hall Nick heard his last words. “Son, we both know she’s the one in charge.”

Alone, Nick smiled, whispering to himself. “Yes, she bloody is.”

*~*~*

Zack felt completely useless. Wright had headed after Rosie and her boy while Giles and Sam went off talking about research with Mrs. W in tow. And while he knew nothing to comfort Buffy or Dawn, the bond to his sire made him feel the pain you get while watching the ones you love grieve.

Spike gave him a nod as he wrapped an arm around his wife. Dawn has taken back over Buffy’s focus as they held each other and cried. “You headin’ out soon?” Spike asked quietly.

“Yeah. Hopefully we can get a trail on her before she skips town.”

Spike nodded again. “Be careful, Zangy. She’s just remembering she’s got more mojo than she thought.”

“Yeah, I’m getting Hermione only shared the Cliff Notes.”

“Sexy Back” by Justin Timberlake burst from Zack’s pocket and he gave a sheepish smile as he reached for his phone. “The missus,” he explained before hitting the speaker button. “Hey, baby.”

“Tell me you two are on your way back?” Kelly’s voice sounded through the room.

“Just about. Think Z’s saying his goodbyes.”

“Cordy and Gunn are a mess. Something happened and they’re suddenly remembering all the crap that Willow did like a decade ago. That stuff Hermione warned her about before she flaked out a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, casting a weary look at Spike and the girls. “Theory is Willow did a reversal spell on the block she put up. It’s…not really good right now.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Pretty upset. Angry and betrayed. I’ll explain later.”

“Yeah…and why does a Japanese woman keep calling the work line asking for you?”

Zack’s eyes widened. “Don’t give her my cell!”

“Is that the old lady with the crush Cordy told me about? If so, I just might.”

“Not cool, Kel.”

She giggled. “Just hurry and get home.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “The package we ordered arrived yesterday and the toys look fun. I can’t wait to see how you react when I try the—“

Zack hit the red button, ending the sentence before she could finish. Much to his horror, three sets of eyes were focused on him. Seems he’d accidentally helped in making the girls break from their sorrow.

“Call her back!” Spike snapped. “You don’t get to leave it there.”

Buffy gave him a smirk. “Toys? Really?”

Dawn’s response was the most shocking. “Is it for her or you? What she’s gonna try?”

Like hell he was going to say. “So, it looks like this is where we say adios. I’ll tell the kids hello.”

“I’m totally calling her once you leave,” Buffy warned.

“You do that and we’re both in trouble, B.”

“Don’t let the kids play with your _toys_,” Dawn teased.

“I love you guys, but fuck off.” He walked over to give the girls each a hug before stopping to shake Spike’s hand.

Spike gave a small smile and pulled him into an embrace, whispering in his ear, “Anal beads, innit?”

“Goodbye,” Zack said pulling back with a scowl.

“Butt plug? One of those vibrating ones?”

“Tell Z I’m in the truck,” he said turning and walking away.

“A big, black dildo?” Spike shouted at him. “Don’t tell me it’s just a cock ring!”

Dammit if he wasn’t going to miss his dick of a best friend.

*~*~*

Dean was actually surprised when Faith didn’t physically fight him for the keys to Baby. Possibly it was the reminder that a busted and bloody window would draw unnecessary attention or maybe she sensed that was a hard line he wasn’t about to cross.

Likely the first one. She didn’t seem like a girl with many fucks to give. And while he was perfectly okay having his body used and abused, his wheels were not on the offering table.

Baby was his excuse for hanging down in the garage. It had nothing to do with wondering if after handing over a car, a hundred bucks and his cell-phone, she might make a getaway. She didn’t seem exactly chummy with any of her old buddies.

He’d steered her west toward the closest Dollar General, warning a Walmart was an hour the other direction. There were definite disadvantages to having a secret lair in the middle of nowhere and good food and retail were the top of the list. He figured neither DG or Wally World would have the kinda threads a chick like Faith would wear on the regular. Leather and fishnets seemed more her style.

“Fuck!” Dean hissed as he almost dropped the pane of glass. His palms grew sweaty with naughty images of what Faith would wear on a night out at an LA club. As much as he was enjoying his new booty call, he didn’t care for how distracting he found her. It was hard to love ’em and leave ’em when she was going to be under the same roof. Maybe the newness would wear off pretty quick and they’d fizzle into the friend zone.

Maybe she wouldn’t come back at all.

Dean lowered the glass into place and began screwing the door frame back together. As long as her next notch wasn’t his little brother, he’d be able to play it cool. Thinking about Sam and Faith taking a tumble actually made him nauseous.

Another thing he didn’t really like.

He didn’t look up when he heard the garage door open. He recognized the sound of the motor and was pissed at how relieved to hear the purr of the engine. Focusing on the job at hand, he finished with the frame and gave the window a test drive, rolling it up to determine it had stayed on track.

The engine shut off and he heard the door open. “You actually keep spare parts on hand?”

Dean looked over at her, a small smirk on his face. “You have no idea how many times she’s been rebuilt. Every six months or so I grab a beer and Sammy’s laptop and search online auto salvages. Go for the windshield next time. I got two over in the corner.”

Faith walked over and dumped an armful of bags on the hood. “Well, she’s pretty sweet on the outside. How slick are her insides?”

Dean scoffed, marching to the front of the car and snatching up the bags. “Baby is not a clothes rack, woman.” He thrust the bags at her.

“Whoa there, Ducky. Didn’t mean to insult your girl.”

“Don’t judge me. You’re just jealous.”

Faith snickered. “Well, someone just showed their Achilles Heel.”

Dean shrugged, knowing he was caught. She was like a shark in sensing blood in the water. “It was my dad’s.” He turned back to double check the bags hadn’t scratched the paint. “Nicest thing he ever gave me.” He paused. “Only real thing he ever gave me.”

“Mommy _and _daddy issues. Sadly I can relate.”

He waited to see if she’d expound, but that was about as open as she planned to be. “So,” he said turning to nod at the merchandise is her hands. “You had a successful shopping trip. Don’t expect you have any change for me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she responded, walking over and depositing her yellow bags through the open window of the front passenger seat. “And these are just temporary. Gonna need that credit card after all. This didn’t cure my retail therapy.”

Dean barked a humorless laugh. “My credit card? You owe me a hundred and twenty and a back passenger window. How you expect to pay back?”

Faith shrugged. “Sex?”

He sneered. “Honey, I don’t pay for sex.”

“Saving your ass?” she countered.

“Saving _my ass_?” Oh, now he was getting pissed.

“Did I stutter, _Ducky_?”

“I saved your ungrateful ass, bitch. I’m the one who found that bracelet in Wolfram and Hart. I’m the one who kept your naked ass from popping up in the middle of some evil law firm.”

“Well, I’m the one who saved your ass not once but twice. You about got it the night I went upstairs and you about got it last night, too. So suck it, Trebek!”

“Ha! Joke’s on you, sweetheart. Both times I was only there because your stupid ass likes to do nothing but cause trouble.”

“I just saved the fucking world, you prick!” She rushes up and shoved him into the side of the car.

“Welcome to the club. You want a cookie? We’ve all saved the world. It’s kinda our thing.”

“Yeah, but I fucking _died_ for it. What did you do?”

“We get prizes for that? Because my trip to Hell should come with something.”

She punched him hard in the gut. “Stop fucking trying to outdo me!”

“Well stop acting like you’re the only one with a shitty life!” He paused and processed how hard she could hit. “And _ow! _Bitch, you got super strength.”

“Yeah,” she said taking a step back and giving him a sheepish look. “Well, you deserved it. Cocksucker.”

“Pretty sure you’ve done it more times than I have.”

A mischievous look flickered in her eyes. “Exactly how many cocks have you sucked?”

“If you include that time in Tijuana…_none_! Come on!”

She snorted. “Was his name Pedro?”

“Girl, are we gonna fight again?”

“Hector?”

“Man, you’re giving me a headache.” He started to walk away, but she stepped forward, pushing him against the car.

“Eduardo?”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

She smirked. “You’re hard,” she said reaching between them to cup the erection he hadn’t even realized he’d had.

“Fuck,” he moaned, closing his eyes and leaning his head down to rest against her brow.

“Looks like the pot was too busy calling out the kettle to realize he was boiling.” She gave him a gentle squeeze that cause him to groan in response. “You ever do it in the backseat?”

He opened his eyes and stared into her own. “What do you think?”

“Ever do it with a slayer in the backseat?”

Reaching over to open the back door, he gave her a warning. “You bust out the window again and you’re paying back in BJs.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not the worst job I’ve ever worked.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sabrina worried her lower lip and navigated her way around the sofa. For the past twenty minutes, Wes had been sitting with his elbows on his knees, his fingers threaded through his hair and a look of manic desperation about him.

He’d taken the truth about as well as could be expected. Denial at first, but with that sort of awful understanding that said plainly he knew it was the truth. The memories themselves remained locked away—she wasn’t sure if restoring them was even an option. It wasn’t for her, as she wasn’t a trained Obliviator, but perhaps that was for the best. Knowing what he’d done seemed to have all but crippled him. Feeling those emotions again, that place he’d been… Well, it might be worse.

“And somehow,” Wesley said, his voice choked, “Zack hasn’t managed to kill me. Either one of them.”

It was the first thing he’d said since she’d stopped talking. She wasn’t sure if he was asking her a question or muttering to himself.

“They know the place is being watched, I suppose,” he continued a moment later. “And if you believe their memories were tampered with, they would need to…play the part.”

That much didn’t sit well with her, because the alternative meant someone had played with _her _mind too. Granted, it wasn’t difficult to figure out who—Harry Potter, Hermione Granger-Weasley, and Ron Weasley had all been present—but still, that smarted her pride a bit. What little Sabrina knew of them came from whispers within MACUSA and, of course, the _Harry Potter _novels, which were required reading because of the danger they posed. She still wasn’t sure how much of those books were fact, but a stunt like that seemed par for the course with the characters Rowling had described.

There was something else, too. Something had happened to Wesley shortly after she’d dropped her truth bomb—something that could have been related to what he’d learned, but somehow she didn’t think so. He’d sounded pained, desperate, and when he’d come back to himself, he’d been disoriented to the point where she knew he hadn’t been entirely aware of his surroundings.

Magic caused that sort of disorientation. Particularly the sort of magic wielded by those NoMajes like Willow Rosenberg. Sabrina had had a bad feeling in her gut about Willow since the day before when she’d been at MACUSA Headquarters. At the time, she’d chalked it up to her predisposition to distrust the witch, but now…

“Wesley,” Sabrina said softly, reaching over to touch his shoulder. “Wes…did something else happen?”

He was quiet for a moment, then scoffed. “You mean aside from my discovering that I nearly killed my best friend’s daughter and was responsible for the death of the woman I…” He shook his head and looked away. “Yes. Apparently this is the day that all secrets come out.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Something unlocked in my head. At first I thought it was my memories—the ones I asked you to take—but this…was different. Happened years ago in England, an incident where Willow Rosenberg—”

“Shit.”

Wesley arched an eyebrow. “So I take it you know Willow.”

“Willow is a live bomb waiting for someone to brush her just the right way. If she’d been on US soil when that incident occurred, we would have put her to death. She’s too dangerous.” Sabrina swallowed and looked away, feeling a bit self-conscious. She wasn’t sure if she was part of the _we _anymore, if not in occupation then definitely philosophy. Death seemed such a permanent, extreme solution. “But MACUSA did not have jurisdiction and her protection at Hogwarts was too strong. Even when she came here last year and pulled off what NoMajes saw as a hell of a light show outside of Los Angeles. Because of Minerva McGonagall and Harry fucking Potter, she’s untouchable. Or she was until the Ministry of Magic severed ties two months ago. Even they wised up enough to realize they can’t control her.” Sabrina released a long breath. “If Willow has restored the memories she took… Nothing good can come of it.”

A moment to think. A snap decision.

“You need to get out of town.”

Wesley blinked at her, looking somewhat dazed. Not that she could blame him—the blows just kept coming. “I’m sorry?”

“Me too, but you need to leave.”

“What do you mean—”

“I mean if Willow accessed the sort of magic that she’d need to in order to restore those memories, then she might…” Sabrina looked away, searching for words. “She is more powerful than us,” she said at last. “That’s why MACUSA wants her dead—a NoMaj witch with more firepower than the entire fucking government. That’s why she’s so dangerous. Without the Ministry of Magic to protect her, we’re going to have to come at her with everything we have, and that amount of power could level the city.”

“I’m her friend,” Wesley argued, though he had gone even paler than before. “I can help.”

“No. You need to leave the city. Get as far away from here as possible. Start over.” Sabrina placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling reckless and brave in ways she never had before. The past two months stealing moments with Wes had been…well, exhilarating. She hadn’t realized how dull her life had been until then—how much embracing this whole other world had changed her. And Wesley, flawed and fucked as he was, was part of that change. From what she saw, he was a good man who had made some truly terrible choices, but he was trying.

And so was she.

So she acted without thought, seized him by the cheeks, and drew his mouth to hers. He was still for a second—a second that stretched into several—before he was kissing her back. Until they weren’t just kissing, but full-on making out. Making out led to groping, which led to body parts rubbing against each other in all sorts of naughty ways that had her center on fire and her heart racing. It was supposed to be a small kiss, truly, but now that he was ripping off her shirt and she was helping him out of his pants, she decided this was better. Two people clinging to each other when neither had anything left to lose. And maybe that was what this was—Wesley embracing an empty future, but for tonight, she wouldn’t care.

He’d be out of her life tomorrow, anyway.

*~*~*

“Rawr,” Buffy said, running her hand along the back of Faith’s new leopard-print wrap dress.

Faith shrugged her hand off and tossed her a dirty look. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she said, glancing down to the neckline that was cleavage-city. “But if you like it, B, the threads can be yours for fifteen dollars and a visit to Dollar General.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose and settled next to Faith at the bar. “Once upon a time, when I was a wee slayer, I took my daddy’s credit card to Rodeo Drive. Pretty sure this would be a dramatic step in the down direction.” She glanced at her own outfit, which had been procured at a Target on one of her and Spike’s trips out of Lebanon. “Not that I have much room to talk.”

“Rodeo Drive, huh?” Faith motioned to Nick for a refill once he pulled himself away from chatting with the pretty redhead vamp at the other end of the bar. “It really was the hard knock life for you, wasn’t it?”

Buffy snorted. “I was what you’d call a nightmare at age fifteen.”

“I seem to remember you being a nightmare at eighteen, too.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow and stared until Faith barked a laugh, nodded her thanks to Nick for the refill, and polished it off. “All right,” she admitted. “So I wasn’t a saint.”

“Faith, you—”

“This is one trip down memory lane this girl so does not need. I know what I was.” She stared at the contents of her glass. “Emphasis on _was_. Been white-hattin’ it for a while now. Even caught up to you on the death scale. Managed to save the world once, too.”

“You don’t have anything to prove.”

It was Faith’s turn to snort. “Who’re you trying to kid? I’ve been back from the dead for about twenty-four hours. When I bowed out, I had people I loved. People I thought loved me. Not sure if Chuck just really likes kickin’ a girl while she’s down, but I ain’t seein’ the half-full of being back among the living.”

Buffy released a long sigh, and motioned for Nick to refill both their drinks this time. Yeah, the past day had been a big bucket of crazy—so much crazy she had officially quit trying to unpack everything she’d learned for the day. After so many weeks of chasing lame leads and killing even lamer demons, the full-speed-ahead insanity that had started with the bracelet and had yet to stop left her feeling winded.

Faith had returned to a place she didn’t know in the middle of a teenage love drama, then been immediately sidelined by a catastrophe ten years in the rearview mirror. As far as Buffy knew, her sister slayer had yet to make up with Rosalie, which Buffy knew was probably responsible for Faith’s malaise, and she couldn’t exactly blame her. Nor could she blame her if she was avoiding the girl, which it seemed she might be doing. Even if Faith knew the better of it, Buffy had died enough times to appreciate just how much it would suck to come back to a world where the person you loved more than anything seemed to resent you.

Which was why she was here, making friends. Well, one of the reasons. If the big emotional blowout with Dawn had taught her anything, it was that some hatchets desperately needed to be buried, and she wasn’t sure that she and Faith had ever had that sort of talk. There had been the Mayor, the coma, the body-swap, the escape to LA, prison, and then…just suddenly, she was back in their lives, reformed but not trusted. Neither forgiven nor forgotten.

Granted, there was a lot to forgive, but Faith was right—they’d forgiven Willow. Numerous times.

“I talked to Dawn,” Buffy said softly. “About earlier. And I told her what I’m about to tell you.”

Faith tensed but didn’t say anything.

“The past is past and…I want to be friends.”

There was nothing for a moment. Then Faith barked a laugh and shook her head. “You looked deep down within your soul and the best you could come up with was you wanna be friends?” She threw back another drink, laughing still, though there was no malice in her voice or in her eyes. “Fuck me, you’re lucky givin’ speeches ain’t a part of the gig.”

“It is sometimes,” Buffy replied dryly, but she was smiling too. “So yes, I am lame, but I stand by it. I’ve told Dawn to cool it on the running commentary. Don’t know if she will or not—there are things she’s not ready to forgive, but I think she will be one day. But insofar as you and me? Past is past. I’m not the same person I was then and you aren’t either.”

“You’re welcome, world,” Faith agreed with a laugh. A pause, then, “If I never said it, B, I am…you know. Sorry. For all that shit. I think I will be until I die.”

“Well, given how prone you are to dying these days, maybe you won’t have to suffer long.”

Faith looked at her out of the corner of her eye, smirking. “There’s the half-full.”

They sat for a moment in a companionable silence as Rosa Lee’s came to life around them. The previous night’s crowd had been decent, all told, but tonight, the crowd was so large it was hard to forget this was the first Saturday the place had been open. Nick had recruited Dawn again for bar service, and being that she was steadily trying to pay back Giles for the tuition money she’d essentially stolen, she’d decided to make tending demon bar on the weekends part of her new trade. Though she was still adamant that the Winchesters kept her in the loop on hunts.

Spike was currently across the room, trying to get into a hand of poker that had spontaneously sprung up among a hodgepodge of vamps, werewolves, and one Chivargo demon. Maybe two. It was hard to tell from this angle. Cheating at cards was one of the only ways he got his evil on anymore—outside of the bedroom, at least—and Buffy had long given up trying to convince him to play legitimately. Plus, he usually made sure to get her something pretty or deadly or both with whatever he pocketed.

Giles, Mary, and both Zacks had taken off around noon, Giles ducking accusatory glares from Dean and Dean had wondered, loudly, why Mary needed to go with Giles to LA, seeing as she didn’t even know “that Willow girl” and Giles had plenty of help, what with the three stars of the _Harry Potter _franchise as backup. Mary had rolled her eyes, hugged her boys goodbye, then slid in beside Giles.

Now, Sam was talking to Rosalie and Castiel about something at the other end of the bar. The last time Buffy had seen Dean, he’d been near the poker table, looking torn between killing everyone sitting there and asking to join in. Dean’s acclimation to the softer side of demons still had a ways to go, but he’d made remarkable progress. Having three live-in slayers probably helped.

Which reminded her…

“So,” Buffy said coyly, dragging her finger around the rim of her drink, “you and Dean, huh?”

Faith barked a laugh. “Me and Dean what?”

“You know I’m a vampire, right? I can smell you two all over each other.”

“No one asked you to sniff me, B. And here I thought Blondie kept you nice and satisfied.”

Even across the room, Spike perked his head up and looked at her as though daring her to say otherwise. Buffy stuck her tongue out at him; he arched an eyebrow and nodded toward the back. She shook her head and blew him a kiss. He pouted, then winked and blew one back.

“All right, gross,” Faith said, her hands coming up. “Ya’ll don’t need to be nauseatingly cute all the time.”

“I kinda think we do,” Buffy said. “But we’re not talking about me and Spike. You. Dean. Spill it. You guys seem awfully chummy.”

Faith seemed to consider this for a moment, then lifted a shoulder and tossed back her drink. “Girl comes back from the dead, she needs to know her plumbing still works,” she said. “Took a spin on the angel and it didn’t take. Didn’t think it was me, but you can’t be too sure. So when Dean got mouthy with me later on, I got mouthy right back.” She paused and grinned. “I’m guessin’ you and Blondie don’t hold back for shit, right? Him being a vamp and all, you don’t gotta worry about being careful.”

“Umm, no. I mean, I’m still stronger than him—like very—but he gets off on that too. If it hurts a little.”

At this, Spike whipped his head up again and, again, motioned toward the back, with a more bit desperation. Buffy snorted and shook her head again, and his answering pout was less playful this time.

Faith, watching this, obviously, chuckled. “Been with only the one vamp—Morris, you know. Which, and can we just take a minute to say, how is it that the goody-two-shoes slayer got more undead action than the black sheep?”

Buffy snickered. “Well, I became the undead, so that helped with part of it.”

“Still, though. Damn, girl.”

“You fucked him while he was soulless, out for blood, and his wife was waiting at home. Pretty sure that still makes you the black sheep.”

“You can’t give me anything, can you?” Faith playfully shoved at her shoulder. “Aside from that one wild night with Wright, I hadn’t been with any guy who could take me at full strength. Though he’s all domesticated now—might be he only liked it _because_ it hurt. Wild child that he was. Could be he’s all about sweet, tender lovin’ these days. Though I can see Cordy being pretty fucking wild, too.” A pause. “But Dean seems to like it. The full-on slayer strength thing, I mean. Most I’ll say on the matter. It’s a nice change of pace from certain”—she nodded at Nick, who was chatting with Rosalie and Sam, a goofy-ass look on his face that Buffy had come to associate with his being utterly smitten—“other guys, at least.”

“And that’s it? Just the extra muscle usage and such?”

“What the hell else would it be? I’ve known him for less than a day.”

“And still managed to sleep with him more than once.”

“Like you and Blondie never had marathons.”

“Sure we do. But we love each other. And we’re mated.”

“And I’m freshly back from the dead. Like I said, gotta see what all still works. See if it’s still just as easy as riding a biker.”

“You mean a bike.”

Faith gave Buffy a look, and, to Buffy’s delight, missed the fact that Dean had just come from the back and was eagerly listening to the entire thing.

But then he leaned into her, his mouth near her ear, and though he spoke in a tone that made it obvious he only intended Faith to hear, Buffy’s vamp-sensitive ears didn’t exactly have an off-switch.

“I prefer _cowboy_,” he muttered. “Just so you know.”

He walked—or rather, strutted—off before Faith could respond, looking much too pleased with himself.

Faith watched him go, then turned her narrowed gaze to Buffy. “How long was he standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you dig using all your muscles on him.”

“And you let me talk. Not the best way to start this friendship, B.”

“I’m sorry, it was funny.” She wasn’t and it had been hilarious. “He had this goofy look on his face. I think he likes you.”

“Of course he likes me. I’m the best sex he’s ever had.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “He didn’t need to. I am and he knows it. Guys like him try to hold onto good pussy when they find it. Don’t mean nothing.”

“When they find what?” asked Nick, coming back to their end of the bar. Rosalie and Sam seemed to be inching their way too, the young slayer eyeing Faith like she was just bursting to say something. For her part, Faith didn’t so much as look in the girl’s direction.

“Good pussy,” Faith repeated, holding out her glass. She glanced to Sam. “He’s a manwhore, right? Your brother?”

Sam flushed, looking everywhere but at Faith. “I… Dean likes girls. Yes. A lot. And they seem to like him. Also a lot. But…we’re on the road so much and in this life, you don’t get to really settle down. So he doesn’t, ahh, date. Not really. There was a woman a few years back he liked but it didn’t work out.”

Faith snorted and threw back a drink. “Even more reason to hang onto good pussy. Though he better watch out or else I’m gonna pop him in the nose next time he sneaks up on me.”

Rosalie opened her mouth to speak. “I—”

“Hey,” Faith said suddenly, slamming her glass onto the counter. “I love this song.” The song had been playing for nearly four minutes and was winding down. “You and me, Boy Scout, let’s bust a move.”

And before anyone could say anything else, Faith had seized Sam by the arm and dragged him off to the makeshift dance floor. Rosalie watched her go, her face falling, but she turned back to Nick before she could actually cry.

“I really fucked up with her,” she muttered, staring at the bar. “Really…really fucked up.”

Buffy sighed and rounded the corner to put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “Maybe not, you know, right now, but eventually.”

Nick met her eyes and gave her a weak smile before looking back to the younger slayer. “Buffy’s right, you know. Just give her some time.”

“What’s the statute of limitations on flipping your shit out when you discover the person who died for you isn’t so dead anymore and you respond by ignoring her and being mad at your boyfriend?” Rosalie moaned and dropped her forehead into her waiting hand, sighing the hard sigh of teenage drama. “I never even said thank you. Or hugged her. Or anything.”

“No, you tried to punch me in the face,” Nick replied bluntly.

“Did you have to say it like that?”

“Is there another way to say it?”

She thought for a moment, then deflated again and shook her head. “No, that’s the only way.” She glanced to Buffy. “How long do you think this’ll go on?”

“I think you’re gonna have to corner her,” Buffy replied, then brought her hands up when the remark earned a glare. “Sorry, honey. On some level, I think Faith understands. I mean, someone has to have told her all we did to try and find her before Chuck or…whoever the hell he was decided to bring her back. Sam at least, if not Dean. But…” She hedged, really not wanting to say this next part because it’d hurt Rosalie but needing to all the same, because slayers couldn’t hide from truth, no matter how badly they wanted to. “Faith…has always been on the outside. Always. When I first met her, she tried to make nice with my friends and me and…well, she was also a teenage hormone bomb, but she… I think one of the reasons things went so bad with us was because I had the support system. I had the Watcher who loved me, my friends, my mom, and at the time a steady boyfriend. Faith came from a crappy background, had no family worth mentioning, watched her first Watcher get killed by a nasty vamp, her second Watcher tried to kill her and her third Watcher… Well, he tried to box her up and send her to the Watchers Council for programming, and this was a good decade before he killed her via magic bracelet. Suffice to say, family isn’t something Faith’s ever had. The closest thing she had to a father was a mayor who turned into a giant snake, and the way he got her on his side was by giving her the thing she wanted more than anything.” Buffy glanced to Nick. “Think, after she got out of jail, you might’ve been the first constant in her life.” Back to Rosalie. “But then she fell in with your family and it was… I dunno, Faith and I have a really screwy history but I kinda get her. I think she thought she had something like a family for the first time. A healthy one, or as close to as she could get. That’s why she was so willing to die for you. And despite knowing that you’re a teenager and prone to acting like one sometimes, it’s hard to walk off a lifetime of not being good enough.”

Rosalie was crying in earnest now, looking absolutely devastated. Nick seemed torn between irritated at Buffy for saying anything and irritated at Rosalie, though for what, Buffy couldn’t say. Might be symptomatic of their age difference—or whatever else they had quarreled about the night before. Or maybe he was pissed on Faith’s behalf; though Buffy didn’t know much about Nick, she did know that he and Faith had connected over their mutual shitty pasts.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Buffy said. “I am, but…that’s the truth as I see it. And I think that’s what you need to know for when you two make with the amends. It’s not just you she’s upset with—it’s a whole lifetime of being let down.”

“But I was the last person to do it.” Rosalie wiped at her eyes. “Before she punched me and took the bracelet, she told me she loved me. I knew something bad was going to happen then, but…” She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder. Faith and Sam were still dancing; Sam was laughing now at something Faith had said, loud and boisterous. He also looked a bit surprised, like she’d taken him off guard. “I’ll find a way to make it better,” Rosalie swore softly.

“I know you will,” Buffy replied. “But give her time. We don’t know how much she’ll need.”

*~*~*

Well, he guessed he’d had this coming.

This being that the hot redhead he’d escorted out of Rosa Lee’s had shoved him against the exterior wall the second they were clear of the sanctuary spell and gone all fangy on him. And ass that he was, Dean didn’t have a piece of wood on him. Or even in him—he hadn’t been all that jazzed about fucking the girl anyway, but something had gone off in his head when he’d seen Sammy and Faith tearing up the dance floor, moving together like they were meant to. Him fucking _laughing _like he rarely did. The fact that seeing it had pissed him off had pissed him off even more, because who the fuck cared who the bitch bedded? Certainly not him.

And what better way to prove that than to take the little redhead who’d been making eyes at him all night up on her nonverbal offer for a quickie?

The fact that the girl’s forehead had done that freaky-still-not-used-to-it bumpy shift shouldn’t have been a surprise because, _hello_, demon bar. Aside from Nick, Rosalie, Dawn and Faith, the Winchesters were probably the only humans in the whole place. Idiot.

Dude, _Spike _had even tried to warn him. As the redhead had led Dean out the door, Spike had caught his eye and shaken his head.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate, ‘less you fancy wakin’ up full of holes.”

Idiot Dean had just shrugged him off, thinking that if Faith had a problem with him getting his freak on with someone else, it was just that—_her problem_. Because did he care? He certainly did not. Don’t believe him? Just step back and watch.

Honestly, if this was what the woman had done to him in twenty-four fucking hours, he deserved to die like this. Hands pinned above his head—these _new _vamps were hella strong; would’ve been nice if someone had mentioned _that_—and fangs nearing his very favorite neck.

Then something happened—a sound he was now thankfully familiar with, thanks to the few times he’d tagged along with Sam and Rosalie or Spike and Buffy on their so-called hunts for _real vamps_. That there was the sound of a stake being introduced to the bitch’s heart. He barely had time to appreciate the way the redhead’s yellow eyes flared wide with surprise before she crumbled into dust.

Dust that he partially swallowed, because Idiot Dean also had his mouth open. Like an idiot.

And standing on the other side of the dust cloud was Faith, her expression unreadable.

Well, maybe he’d get to make his point after all.

Though…it bothered him that she didn’t look bothered. Girl ought to feel some sense of ownership, right? He’d heard her bragging to Buffy about how good the sex was—didn’t she get proprietary about that kind of shit?

“Next time,” she said conversationally, “check for a pulse. Might not be here to save your stupid ass.”

Dean flashed her his patented panty-dropping grin. The same to which she seemed strangely immune. “And thank you. Guess I can knock one blowjob off what you owe me.”

The second the words were out, he knew they were a mistake. There were certain things even Idiot Dean couldn’t miss.

Faith stared at him for a moment, then snorted, her mouth twisting into an unpleasant sneer. “You know what? No.”

“No?”

“I know I made the joke earlier, and that’s all well and good as long as you know that’s all it was. I don’t owe you shit, asshole. I don’t care how many precious windows on that goddamn car I smash or how much cash I need to borrow to get my life back together. I am _not _your fucking whore. And fuck you.”

What the fuck was this shit?

“It was a joke!” Dean bellowed, storming after her when she started away. From the look of things, she wasn’t heading back inside, either. “Jesus Christ. Like you said, you made the same damn—”

“That’s right,” Faith snapped back, whirling around. _“I _made it. _Me. _My body. My decisions.”

“I never said otherwise!”

“Just so’s we both understand that.” She glared at him a moment longer, then turned and broke into a run in the direction of the bunker.

And being that she was the Slayer, her version of a run was everyone else’s version of the fucking Roadrunner. Dean wasn’t exactly in bad shape—hell, he’d never been in better shape—but he knew better than to try to keep pace with her while wearing jeans and sporting a hard-on.

Because yeah. His dick officially hated him. Nothing for the redhead, even before she’d gone all fangy, but Faith mouths off at him about pretty much anything and he was ready to put those slayer muscles to the test.

The fact that she looked hot as fuck running—especially in that scrap of a thing she called a dress—didn’t make anything better.

“Fuck!” he yelled, and stormed around the building as he dug out the keys to Baby.

If they were gonna fight, they’d fight about what had actually just happened. Not some bullshit.

Maybe this was just the thing he needed to get her out of his system for good. Then, _then_, friends, would Idiot Dean retire indefinitely.

*~*~*

Faith had already all but torn apart Dean’s room before she remembered that everything she owned was still in the shopping bags she’d brought back from the Dollar General Store. The clothes she’d started to think of as _hers _were actually not hers, which meant this whole dramatic pack-up-her-shit-and-move-out statement wouldn’t really hit home because the only thing that had moved in was her. She’d been spat back into this world without a stitch of goddamned clothing.

“Fuck.” She muttered, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Then she eyed the dresser and decided to vent her frustration by kicking at it. The wood splintered and the lower drawer dropped awkwardly to the right, and that gave her a moment of satisfaction before she heard the telltale slam of the bunker’s entrance.

_Let it be B and Blondie, ready to go at it like dogs. Let it be anyone but_—

“What the fuck are you doing to my room?”

Faith tossed Dean a glare and smirked. “Just movin’ out, Ducky. Needed to grab my things.”

“Your things.” Dean made a show of looking around the room. “You _have _no things, Faith. Except the dress you’re wearing which, if you do plan on paying me back, is technically mine until you do.”

“You want me to give you my dress. Really?”

“No, I’m just saying…you have no goddamned things, all right?!”

“I fucking know that!”

“Then what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“I…forgot.” Goddammit, now she felt like an idiot. “I forgot that I don’t got shit because I was dead for two months and landed back on my very naked ass in a car halfway across the goddamned country and everything I had to my name is gone. Sorry. Next time it happens, I’ll write myself a note.”

Dean looked torn between pity and amusement. Both just pissed her off.

“But don’t worry,” she said, throwing her hands up and making toward the door. “I’m all kinds of outta here. Go see if I can hunt me down some new digs. Or maybe your brother wouldn’t mind a bunkmate for the night.”

She honestly didn’t know why she said that last thing—maybe because he’d pissed her off so much that commonsense had flown out the window. Or maybe because she’d caught him sending her and Sam the occasional death glare back at the bar and had known that would bother him. Maybe because when Spike had told her to go after her newest plaything before he got himself killed, she’d been mad enough to kill him herself.

Or maybe it was just all of it. The emotional baggage of being alive again in a world so different from the one she’d left, but still somehow so similar that she felt like an asshole for being so off her game.

Either way, she’d said it.

And Dean responded by turning and slamming the door shut.

“You’d fuck Sammy?” he asked, his back to her, shaking.

Answer to that was no, but she didn’t want to admit it. “Is it true they call him the pretty one? I can see why.”

Dean turned around and the thing in his eyes made her forget momentarily that this guy was in fact a human. He didn’t look it at the moment.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“No thanks.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt.”

Dean closed the space between them in two strides, closed his hands around her arms, and assaulted her mouth with his. Biting and nipping and growling and, whoo boy, he made the best sounds. Faith seized him by face, intending to pull back just enough to leave him with one hell of a headbutt, but somehow ended up sucking his lower lip between her teeth as he walked her back to the bed. The backs of her legs hit the mattress and she went down without a fight. This jostled their mouths apart and gave her a clean break for the door, but her hands decided that helping Dean rip off his shirt was a much better use of her time.

They went for his belt at the same moment, but she got there first and whipped it free. And as Dean moved to shove down his jeans, she seized the initiative to loop the leather twice around his throat.

“Fuck me,” Dean gasped. She tugged back until he had no choice but to flop onto the bed, and then she was astride him, tightening her grip on the belt enough that all he could do was sit and watch her as she ripped the condom out of his pocket.

“Bad _Ducky_,” she snapped, pulling tighter still. His face began to go red.

“Holy…_shit_,” he gasped, watching as she rolled the latex over his shaft. “You are awesome.”

Faith smirked, reached between them to shove the crotch of the panties she’d admittedly bought thinking they’d be ripped off sometime tonight, and impaled herself on his cock. “I know. I kick all kinds of ass.”

She loosened her grip on the belt just slightly as she began to ride him, watched him as he watched her with hooded eyes and a look on his face that made her feel things. Dangerous things. Things she wanted to avoid. Things that, last time around, had gotten her killed.

Best keep the belt where it was so it kept Dean where _he _was. A safe distance from her. Her live-in vibrator. That was all, goddammit.

But at some point, Dean seized her by the shoulders again and managed to flip her under him. She might’ve been surprised, but she hadn’t the time, because he began pounding into her so hard that yeah, those were stars she saw.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t in anger. Or it was, but not entirely. That distance didn’t seem so safe now.

Maybe in the morning she’d remember why that was a bad thing.


	15. Chapter 15

The last twenty four hours were a numb blur in his mind. In the years to come he doubted he could ever fully recount his words or actions during the entire last day. Everything from the moment Willow had touched his temple and flooded him with the most gut-wrenching and tragic series of memories he could ever imagine had seemed inconsequential.

More than the memories she’d given was the one she left imprinted on his mind forever. The terrified and tortured look in her eyes as she’d stared at him afterward before vanishing into thin air.

He’d screamed for her. Cried out to the empty room for her to come back. He’d needed her to explain why. Not why she’d done everything she had, though he struggled with those questions as well. Why she’d given him those memories. Why she had possibly thought he could do to help.

Toby assumed he was still drunk when he found him lying on the floor. He seemed to assume it was the alcohol that had made him listless and closed off the rest of the day. But it wasn’t a hangover that he could merely overcome with hydration, pain killers, and sleep. A part of Sam had changed forever in that moment and he wasn’t sure how to begin processing it.

He’d been a terrible father last night. He hadn’t looked at Oz since making it back to Sacramento. As soon as he’d broken free from work and made it home, he’d gone straight to bed and locked the door. Staring at the ceiling as images of pain and grief and anger and a poor woman he’d never met, but knew was the love of his love’s life played on a continuous loop until exhaustion finally gave him relief.

The familiar cry across the baby monitor had been the key to bringing Sam back from the past. Back from a life he’d never actually lived.

Unlocking the door, Sam ventured across the hall to find the nursery awash in a sea of bubbles. It looked as though Oz had run a bath and overrun the room with a soapy wall of white. With a deep breath, Sam took a step into the foamy mass and felt his way toward the crib. Once there, he scooped up the baby and spun around to walk back across the room and into the open air.

“You’re adorable,” he muttered to the squirmy bundle now cooing in his arms. Dipping down, he planted a kiss on his son’s crown before resting his head in the crook of his neck. “I love you. No matter what, I’m going to love you. All the bubbles or balloons or monkeys in the world won’t stop that.”

Unsurprisingly, Oz was not impressed. He whimpered and drooled against his father’s skin in his nonverbal command to be fed. Sam took the hint and headed downstairs, ignoring Toby and Josh and their morning routine.

Silently, he made a bottle and then decided to skip his morning coffee and conversation to take Oz back upstairs. Once he shut the door and settled down on his bed, he looked to the baby sucking formula in his arms and said, “I need your advice.”

Sam hadn’t expected a response so he continued. “Your mother—” He choked at the words. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “You’re mom is amazing. Don’t ever let them tell you otherwise. Ever.” He sighed as Oz blissfully continued his breakfast. “She’s the most powerful person in the world.” He gave a little chuckle as realization hit him. “Unless that’s actually you. For all we know, you may be even more so. I could be feeding Lord Voldemort right now.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think I am. Because you’re mom is a good person deep down. And I think I’m a good person, too. And we’re going to raise you to be good and kind and caring.” He paused. “But even if you go evil and try and destroy the world, I’m still going to love you.”

Pulling the bottle back, he propped Oz up for a burping. Patting his back, he continued talking. “Which doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. I always wondered how parents of serial killers could say they still loved their sons after finding out the truth. How you could love a monster. But I honestly think you could murder an orphanage of babies and I’d still love you.”

He pulled Oz back to look him in the eyes. “Do _not_ do that. Understand I give no permission to be a serial killer. Or a murderer. You hear me?” Oz burped and dribbled formula in response. “Good.”

Sam resumed the feeding. “Your mom did some things. Some very bad things.” Once again he released a heavy sigh. “But not because she’s bad. I don’t think she’s ever been bad. Wrong? Hell yes. Misguided? Hell yes again. A complete and total stubborn pain in the ass? Still hell yes. Which I’m sure you’re going to grace me with all of that in the years to come.” He smiled at the thought of all the magical insanity he was bound to endure with a little wizard.

“I wonder if you get a letter from an owl. I should probably check on that. Might be strange to have one pop up at Chuck E. Cheese or Disneyland. We might make different plans that day.” Shaking his head, he got back on topic. “What I’m trying to say is that people are going to talk about your mom. They’re going to say she’s bad, but she’s not. I know she’s not. I _saw _she’s not. She’s just…” He didn’t know what. “Hurting. Mourning. Loving.”

That was it. “Loving,” he said again. “Your mom loves too much. More than she can comprehend. And she lost someone she loved more than anything. And I don’t know how to help her. How to help her know that it’s okay. Because it’s not okay. You know?”

After the empty bottle was pulled from Oz’s mouth, the baby proceeded to spit up all over himself. “Exactly. That was exactly my reaction too. And here I thought you were going to figure this out for me.” Oz giggled in response. “Yeah, well, it’s funnier when someone magically cleans it up.”

*~*~*

Zack had to begrudgingly admit seeing the looks of pure joy and excitement on Rosie and Will’s faces upon seeing Giles walk into the Hyperion was worth losing access to the Shag Shack for a few days. He just hoped the old guy didn’t find the box of “toys” Kelly had stashed under the bed.

The last couple of months had been an adjustment. Getting back with his wife and finding peace with the shit show last year had been the highlight. Finally sitting down and connecting with his half-brother was also pretty cool. A lot of the rest had ranked on the suck scale.

The kids had a hard time adjusting to losing so much of their family in the course of a bad weekend. While Papa G, Uncle Spike and Aunt B all had tried to maintain a connection through FaceTime and phone calls, his mother had essentially died once she’d chosen to walk away and have her memory altered. And while they had told the kids Nana had gone out of town for a while, they still asked from time to time when she’d be back. He didn’t have the heart to give a straight answer yet.

It had also been strange without Faith, Nick, and Rosalie around the place. Baby Kelly had had the hardest time without those three and spent a couple weeks crying for her sister every so often.

Then there was Wes. That had been a world of awkward. While Zack was all too eager to put the past to rest, Wright most definitely was not. Watching his brother fight to keep from outright killing the man was nearly painful. Knowing Wes was oblivious to the cause of Wright’s hatred was another page in his family’s tragic story.

But Faith was alive and it appeared to be of a non-Wolfram and Hart agenda, so yay for a victory. But Willow had boarded the train to Crazy Magic Town, so all signs pointed to another deadly adventure. Zack figured that was par for the course with his life now for eternity.

The vampire wasn’t at all surprised to find Giles deep in conversation with Harry Potter when he walked down the stairs to grab a cup of morning bloody brew. Which was honestly an image Zack never would have expected in his youth. His father figure chatting it up with the most famous wizard in the world. Kinda along the same lines as seeing Hannibal Lecter ice skating in a Little Mermaid costume. Some shit you don’t really plan for in life.

“Tell me you two got this whole thing covered and we can all just take a day at Disneyland,” Zack said as he strolled over to the unlikely duo.

“Not hardly,” Harry said, extending his arm for a handshake. As Zack grasped the man’s hand, he admitted it still got to him how he’d suddenly landed himself a spot at the grownup’s table after everything that happened. Earning respect from the magical team and being Wright’s go to second in command at Wright & Pryce Investigations had given him a sense of responsibility he’d never really had before.

All in all this adulting shit was kinda cool. Not so much that he regretted a lifetime of slacking off, but he didn’t mind putting on a different pair of shoes for a while. In about fifty years he suspected he and Spike would have a chance to get back to their shenanigans of scamming and irresponsibility.

“We’re waiting for Hermione to arrive,” Giles explained. “She’s been communicating with both administrations to determine what exactly is known about Willow’s status at the moment.”

“And we’re just assuming she didn’t take the day to head over to Disneyland? Seems kinda presumptuous to me.”

Wright popped his head out his office door. “What the fuck is up with Disneyland, dude?”

Zack grinned and shrugged. “Kinda felt like a churro.”

His brother rolled his eyes and gestured him to come his direction. He obliged and stepped over to the boss’s office. “What’s up?”

Wright gave him a dark look. “Wes. He’s MIA. Hasn’t been heard from in over a day. Never came home the day we took off to Kansas.”

“No chance he just went to Disney for a churro?” His brother growled in response to the question. “Watch it. Humor’s my defense mechanism.”

“Would work better if you were funny.” Wright sighed and flopped into his desk chair. “Can you just go out there and find out how fucked we are on this? You know this plus Willow points to shit hitting the fan.”

Zack had to agree. “Yeah. No chance Gunn has already started a search?”

Wright shook his head. “Him and Kel have been swamped with calls. Cordy noticed, but with wrangling the phones and the kids, she couldn’t do much. She waited until this morning to fill me in. Guess that was her way of cutting me a break. I just worry it cost us time.”

“I’ll head out and see if I can pick up his scent at any of the usual hunting grounds. Make a couple calls. Maybe Little Pete down at the magic shop will know some gossip. Or Johnny over at Caritas. We know Wes has been popping over there a bit.”

While Wright nodded his head in agreement, Zack could tell he still wasn’t satisfied. “What?”

“My wife informed me she wants to work in the field today. Despite my adamant objections. She says I ‘owe her’ for our Kansas trip.”

“Don’t say _our_ anything. I was kidnapped.” He paused. “Which happens to me more than is really cool to admit, now that I think about it.”

“Yeah, try to avoid that while I’m trying to keep Cordy alive today. I can only save one ass at a time.”

“Somehow you managed to make me grateful for a solo job. Thanks.”

“Get out,” Wright growled.

Zack chuckled as he turned to leave. It was the small things that helped ease the impending doom that awaited them as the day moved forward.

*~*~*

Rosalie awoke as usual for her morning workout and training. Some naughty mornings a certain someone was already awake next to her. Those days she was late meeting Sam, but managed to get in bit of cardio before hitting classes at Slayer University.

Today was not one of those mornings. Nick was sleeping so hard there was a thin line of drool between his open mouth and the pillow. “Yuck,” she muttered, gently closing his pie hole. It wasn’t sheet day yet.

Rolling out of bed, she stretched her muscles and slipped into her workout apparel. Her brain operated on autopilot as she made her way to the closet. Sam had a thing for morning jogs and she usually grabbed a jacket. Upon opening the door she noticed her current favorite hoodie had slipped off the hanger. Bending down she came face to face with a cardboard box.

“You fucking idiot,” she murmured to herself, abandoning her hoodie and morning routine. Knowing the box she wanted was on the bottom, she grabbed the one on top to move aside. A stack of DVDs Nick had stupidly stashed away tumbled to the floor with a crash. “Shit,” she hissed.

Nick groaned and rolled over. “Rose?” he slurred. “Okay?”

“Fine. Go back to sleep.” She grunted as she put the box on the floor.

“What the hell?” He sounded only slightly more awake.

“Your fault. Why haven’t you unpacked your books?”

“They’re duplicates. I think the library here has copies of them all.”

“Whatever,” she grumbled as she dove back inside the closet.

“Seriously, Rose, what are you doing?”

“Remember how Mom and Lorne arranged to ship us stuff after we started putting together the cantina?”

“You mean the two boxes of mine and the twenty of yours.”

“Eight,” she corrected as she stood with the box she wanted. “But actually seven. This one isn’t mine. It’s Faith’s.”

Nick appeared to fully wake up at that. “Really?”

Rosalie sat the box down on the corner of the bed. “I asked Mom to send it. You and I were her next of kin and I didn’t want them to throw it out to make room for somebody else.” She paused as a blush warmed her cheeks. “I wanted us to go through it together someday. Maybe find something appropriate to share with our first kid when they were old enough to understand.”

Nick’s eyes widened with panic. “Rose?”

“Shut up, Hunter! I said _someday_. As in years from now.” She turned her head in embarrassment. “I just wanted them to know about the woman who saved their mom’s life. My hero.”

“You want kids?” Nick had apparently missed the greater part of the story.

“Yeah. _Someday_.” She paused. “Wait, do you _not _want kids?”

“Honestly, until this moment the thought had never crossed my mind.” After a beat he asked, “Is this something you think about a lot?”

“No!” she responded. “It was just always part of my plan. Get married, have two kids, go to Italy…you know, life goals.”

“Two? You want two?”

She gave him a dirty look. “You say that like I said I want a threesome with you and Hayden Christensen.”

“You _do _want that threesome, you already told me.” He sighed. “I’m just saying it’s a lot to throw at a bloke running on hardly any sleep.”

“Well, you can stop worrying,” she said as she walked over to her nightstand and rummaged through the drawer for a pen and paper. “Consider the conversation officially tabled until further notice. The song goes first comes love, then comes marriage, _then_ comes baby in the baby carriage.”

“Right,” he said slowly.

“And if it’s that much of a dealbreaker, it’s fine.” After she scribbled her message down, she tossed the pen and remaining sheets of the notepad back in the drawer. “Seriously, Nick. I’m not sending you some secret message. I don’t have baby fever. It was dumb to even mention it. Let’s move on.” She looked up at him. “Okay?” She gave him her best reassuring smile.

With a nod, he gave her his goofy grin. “Okay.”

“Good.” Leaning across the mattress, she gave him a quick smack on the lips before taking the paper and box and heading out the door.

Sweet baby Jesus, that had turned down a road she hadn’t meant to drive.

Stopping in front of Dean’s room, Rosalie gingerly sat the box down and placed the note on top. It was simple, but she didn’t think Faith was ready to hear her excuses. All she could hope was this would work as a peace offering to begin to bridge she’d created the other night with her stupid hormonal drama.

_I’m sorry_

_\- Love, Rose_


	16. Chapter 16

“Good _god_,” Cordelia said, twirling around with her arms outstretched, her head tipped toward the sky. “I feel like I’ve been in that blankety-blank hotel for a thousand blanking years.”

Wright struggled not to grin. Also not to give her the side-eye, lest she see his smirk. Ever since discovering she was pregnant, and especially since the baby had been born, Cordelia had been trying—emphasis on _trying_—to sanitize her language. But they’d found themselves in a lot of situations over the past year that had been of the four-lettered variety, which had thrown a giant wrench into her plans. However, ever since the business with Wolfram and Hart had quieted—ever since they’d recovered their daughter and sent Rosalie across the country—she’d resumed her quest. It was not in Wright’s interest to find this adorable, but he did anyway.

“So…” Cordelia tucked into his side and seized his hand. “I’ve let you go way too many hours without demanding answers, so you better pay up. How is she?”

At that, Wright inhaled and squeezed her hand. Leaving Rosalie had been tantamount to torture—much like letting her go had been. It was a day he’d known would come eventually, preferably in a couple more years once she decided on a college and shipped out. But that had been before Faith’s impromptu death—the first one, anyway—and before Rosalie had been Chosen by the PTB. Thinking of the scrawny thing he’d carted with him from state to state as an adult woman making adult decisions and doing very adult things behind closed doors would be something he figured he’d struggle with for the rest of his days.

But this trip to Kansas—spontaneous and likely ill-conceived as it had been—had enabled him to see a few things he hadn’t before. Two months was the longest he’d gone without seeing Rosalie, and when she’d stumbled out of the bar that first night… Hell, she’d looked so much like her mother he’d wondered briefly if he’d been zapped back in time. But that fighting spirit of hers was one-hundred-percent the result of growing up in a household with Cordelia Chase. In that, Rosalie had become the perfect marriage of both her mothers. The realization was bittersweet.

While some part of Wright would love Amber until he was in the ground himself, he knew that the man he was today wasn’t compatible with the woman she’d been. The man he was today couldn’t see himself with anyone but Cordelia. Amber had been docile and sweet, eager to please but also easy to mow over. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but she’d just been a passenger throughout their relationship, there to be taken but not to guide. To provide support but never to lead. Never to challenge. She’d been, to put it nicely, a doormat. And doormats were fine things, but they tended to get ugly over time. And that was what would have happened to Amber—that sweet disposition of hers would have been trampled into something unrecognizable.

That Rosalie was more Cordelia’s daughter than Amber’s had been something of a shock, because she did look so much like her mother. But Wright wouldn’t have it any other way. The Ambers of the world weren’t fighters or survivors—they were bystanders. And his daughter was not a bystander.

“She’s great,” he answered, a bit hoarser than he would have liked. “Well, great with some teenage drama thrown in. She reacted like the other woman, apparently, when Hunter brought Faith in and is worried she fucked up that relationship. And she’s handling…all these fucking memories well too.” That reminded him. “Cordy…do you remember that kid I told you about when Gunn and I got back from England after the incident? The one who survived the attack on the Watchers Council and hadn’t had a birthday party?”

Cordelia frowned. “Uhh, vaguely. That was ten years and at least two mind wipes ago.”

“How is this our life?”

“Do you really wanna go down that road, sweetie?”

He supposed not. “Well, there was this kid we pulled from the wreckage at the Watchers Council. Lucky to be alive. He was fourteen but could pass for eleven. Fucking miracle he didn’t get crushed to death.” He paused. “Turns out that kid is now banging my daughter.”

Cordelia tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him to a stop. “No way.”

“Yeah. Nick was in England when Willow went nuclear. And damn, that kid…I don’t wanna think about what kinda life he was leadin’ then, Cor. He had no one then. Pretty sure Faith was his first family.” He frowned. “And he’s made Ro his family too, so there’s that.”

She smirked up at him, her eyes twinkling.

“What?”

“You like him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and pressed a kiss against his lips. “You big dummy, it’s not a bad thing to like the guy who, as you so delicately put it, is banging your—_our _daughter. She has good taste which she, by the way, so did not get from you. Let’s face it, Ro could’ve easily been the next Faith were it not for yours truly. Daddy issues plus teenage years equals—”

“Hey! She so did not have daddy issues!”

“Zack, you were dragging her from motel to motel, chasing demons, and leaving her for hours at a time with your first wife’s sister who was totally in love with you. If you hadn’t come to LA when you did, you’d’ve been killed in action and Rosalie would’ve grown up with Nikki as her sole role model and, not to speak ill of the dead, but _yikes_. She was going to have major daddy issues. Instead, she fell in love with some hodgepodge of Giles and Xander Harris.”

“If you want me to like the guy, the last thing you need to do is draw comparisons between him and Xander Harris.”

“Hey, I dated Xander.”

“I know and I’m still trying to forgive you for that.”

Cordelia stuck her tongue out at him, then turned and pointed at the building they were approaching. Harry had given them an idea of what to look for—a non-descript no-nonsense building with a hot dog truck parked outside, where you were to order an Americorn Dog Special to signify you were there to visit MACUSA headquarters.

But that wasn’t what they were doing, because that would be stupid. Instead, Wright reached into his back pocket and fished out the photo Giles had provided of Willow. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to the hot dog vendor. “I’m Zack Wright with Wright and Pryce Investigations. This is Cordelia Chase. We’re looking for—”

“Me!” a voice shouted from nowhere. Wright and Cordelia whirled around at the same time as a petite but well-defined woman with a messy brown bun and wide eyes stumbled toward them on the sidewalk. She looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until she was up close that Wright recognized her as the witch who had stormed into the Hyperion two months ago with the intention of zapping their memories.

“You,” Wright said, then _oofed _as Cordelia elbowed him in the side. Right, he wasn’t supposed to remember.

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Wright, Ms. Chase, for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” The woman waved at the hot dog vendor. “I have them, Griff. Tell your wife hello.” She turned her attention back to Wright, and jerked her head toward a small table situated under an oversized umbrella. “Follow me, please.”

Wright stared after the little witch, a bit dazed at what to do. He glanced at an equally baffled Cordelia, who, at length, turned to him and shrugged before following.

Yeah, there wasn’t a damn thing about this he liked.

“_Muffliato_,” the witch said as Wright and Cordelia stepped inside her circle, waving her wand surreptitiously under the table. When she finished, she sighed and raised her gaze to them. “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to come here.”

Well, that was a fantastic way to end up on Cordelia Chase’s shit list. “All right, bitch, you wanna go?”

“Honey, she has a wand. I think she can take us.” Wright forced a smile to keep up appearances, placing his hand on top of Cordelia’s. “So, is there any point in pretending we don’t know who you are?”

“No,” the woman replied, a bit sourly at that but not as much as he’d have expected. “I know someone, probably Hermione Granger-Weasley, prevented me from completing the Memory Charm. I also know a Memory Charm was placed on me to make me… Well, we can skip the recap. What the hell were you thinking coming here?”

“We were thinking that Willow Rosenberg is in a world of trouble and it’s better if we cover our bases to find her before something apocalyptic happens,” Wright replied, smile still in place.

“You walk into MACUSA HQ, they get any whiff that you know anything about our world, and it’s my head,” the witch replied. “Literally. On a pike. And maybe yours, too. I don’t know.”

“So having this conversation out here seems like the best possible option,” Cordelia replied, rolling her eyes. “Are all American magic people so blanking stupid?”

Wright couldn’t keep his lips from twitching at that. He had the strongest, most reckless impulse to tip Cordelia back and kiss her breathless. It was almost painful to ignore.

“I’ve cast a charm that, if you’d read the stupid _Harry Potter _books, you’d know means we can’t be heard.” The witch leaned forward nonetheless. “Which is why I need to see you. I know you’re still in contact with the Potters and the Weasleys. I need to establish a meeting. Somewhere safe. The Hyperion is being watched.”

“And why should we help you at all?” Cordelia asked, crossing her arms. “Ms. Memory Wipe?”

“It’s Sabrina. Sabrina Deanne. And you want to listen to me because once MACUSA gets wise to what’s happened to Willow, they will use every resource at their disposal to take her out.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that’s something you don’t want to happen?” Wright replied dryly.

“That’s something _everyone_ doesn’t want to happen,” Sabrina snapped. “Because if they come at her with their firepower, she’ll fire right back. And the last time that happened, she nearly wiped out a continent. So unless you two are okay with wiping out the west coast, maybe a little less sarcasm and a little more sense, we can avoid Armageddon.”

*~*~*

They were looking for her.

Willow had missed a day and a half of meetings. She was supposed to accompany Percy Weasley back to MACUSA to continue her talks with Toadmore and the rest. She should have met Hermione yesterday evening before Sam had arrived back in Sacramento to steal a few minutes with her son. Ginny Potter had unleashed a tracker spell that nearly betrayed her, but Willow had managed to create an apparition-double of herself that had served as a quick distraction.

The truth was she didn’t know what she wanted to do. After leaving Sam’s hotel room, she’d been rather aimless. Lost in the past, replaying that last awful fight with Tara again and again. Seeing Glory’s smirk when she’d realized how much taking Tara had hurt her. And then that terrible moment after she’d ripped Ben’s flesh from his body when she’d realized that she’d doomed the woman she loved forever.

But there had to be a way. There _had _to. She was capable of great and terrible things, after all. Truly great and terrible. And that had been ten years ago—what had she learned in the past decade that might be able to rescue Tara from the prison of her own mind? Prove to her that she’d never given up?

Except she had. The spell itself was evidence of that. And that’s what hurt the most.

No. _No. _That was not what hurt the most.

Willow pressed her eyes shut. Not that it did any good.

The details had always been muddy—what exactly she’d done that had been so evil. How she’d nearly destroyed the world. And at the time, she’d had a convenient culprit for that. Wolfram and Hart had screwed with her memories—with everyone’s memories. Some truth was buried there among the dung, but it was too vague to take shape. And while that had been true, she’d been able to divorce herself from her guilt. There had been fear, of course—fear of becoming the Big Bad Willow again, but the fears had been built on a pile of question marks.

But there was nothing to question anymore. The ugly thing that lived inside her, that had gnawed at her, pushed her to find a way to undo the damage she’d rained on the woman she loved had consumed not only her mind but her soul. There was so much blood on her hands. Men, women, children, Muggles, witches, wizards… God, she’d tried to kill Dawn. Her best friend’s little sister.

Willow sat on the rented bed in her motel room, staring at the television. She’d come here straight off after leaving Sam, awash in her memories and attempting to contemplate her next move. Only that wasn’t true. She knew what her next move would be. She’d known the second she’d Apparated to Sam’s hotel room. That was why she’d left him with her memories—so that when someone asked _why_, he would have the answer. He deserved to know if no one else, especially since she was leaving him with a piece of herself.

They were looking for her, but they wouldn’t find her. Not in time for it to mean anything, at least. The protections she’d established on the room would vanish the second it was over. And if they didn’t find her immediately, they would after housekeeping came by and made the discovery.

It was just a matter of working up the nerve to do the next bit. Willow tore her gaze from the television to the thing sitting in her lap. Getting one had been easy. Just as stupidly easy as Sam was always bemoaning. The guy behind the counter had barely glanced at her as he’d rung up the sale. Under the table, because of things like waiting periods, but flash an extra bit of cash and no one gave a shit.

There were magical ways to do it, of course, but Willow felt sick of magic. She’d barely been able to stomach the spells she’d whispered when she’d checked in—those keeping her off the radar. And magic also had some sort of dignity. She felt she didn’t deserve dignity. What she deserved was an unremarkable death in an unremarkable place by unremarkable means and to be discovered by unremarkable people.

She would have liked to have seen her son one last time. Apologize to him for the things she’d done, for not being a better person. For leaving him behind. But she’d worried that seeing him would weaken her resolve, and neither she—nor the world—could afford that.

There was only one way to protect the people she loved. Protect her son.

Willow opened her mouth and, with a shaking hand, tipped the nozzle of the gun back so it rested against her tongue. She didn’t even know what kind of gun it was—it hadn’t mattered. Just one with a bullet.

A tear skated down her cheek, chased by another. Her hands felt sweaty and the weight of the metal was greater than she would have imagined. She hoped she’d stop shaking enough to make it clean. Call her a coward but she didn’t want to suffer.

Willow pressed her eyes closed, bit back a sob, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun definitely went off—the bang was too loud to have been in her head. An explosion of what she could only assume was gunpowder assailed her mouth, covering her tongue flooding her with the taste of copper and lead.

And there was someone else in the room.

“Well,” the someone said, “that was certainly dramatic.”

A man’s voice. A man who hadn’t been here a second ago. Trembling, Willow straightened her head and lowered the gun, her disbelieving eyes falling on a middle-aged guy sitting now where her television had been, his expression affable, a small smile on his lips. He sat with his hands in his lap, his ankles crossed, studying at her as though she were some scientific experiment gone wrong.

“And, sure, if you wanna do it later, fine. I won’t stop you.” The guy raised a hand and made a _come-on _motion with his fingers. Willow stared at him, unsure whether or not she was hallucinating. Or maybe she’d only managed to give herself some devastating brain injury, and she was lying in a hospital right now as doctors attempted to piece together what remained of her skull.

Then she gagged, and something came out of her throat. A small something—and she knew what it was before she saw it. Knew but didn’t understand. Couldn’t.

The bullet floated before her eyes, spinning in midair.

So not a brain injury. A wizard, then. Another magical Muggle like herself. There weren’t many who could pull off that bit of sorcery.

“Not a wizard, my dear,” the man said, plucking the bullet out of the air and studying it. “I’m something much, much better.”

Willow panted out a breath, gripped the edge of the bed and stared up at him in wonder.

“My name is Michael,” the man said solemnly. “And I am an angel of the Lord. And I’m here, Willow Rosenberg, to deliver your ticket to redemption.”

*~*~*

So it turned out that being ridden like a bronco was all it took to turn Dean into a cuddler.

Yesterday when Faith had awakened, there had been a clear dividing line on the bed. Dean on his side, Faith on hers, a nice sliver of mattress separating them.

Today, though, Dean was all up in her business. He was behind her, spooning of all things, one of his legs tangled with hers, one of those wicked strong arms around her middle and the other hugging her to his chest. Faith had never been big on cuddles. Okay, so she’d fucking hated them—found them intrusive and sweaty and not for the fun reasons. Not that she’d had much occasion to wake up in bed with someone. There’d been the odd time or twelve when she and Nick had exhausted themselves too much to sneak back to their respective rooms, and the one morning she’d awakened with Wes in her bed, but typically, once the sex part was done, she was off. Or he was off. And the times that she had awakened with someone else, she’d felt cranky and gross. Too much other-person-heat on her skin. Not enough room to stretch and sleep like she liked.

The fact that Faith had fallen asleep last night and actually slept soundly—not just soundly, but like the goddamned dead, and she should know—had her freaked.

Maybe because Dean had her pulled to him like she was some kind of anchor, like he actually wanted her there and that was the reason he’d wrapped himself around her. And fuck, if it didn’t feel nice to be wanted by someone. Like she mattered.

Granted, that was probably a side-effect of all the sex. She was pretty sure last night had definitively dethroned Wright as the best lay she’d ever had. Dean had been fucking possessed. And insatiable. Every time she thought he was about to tap out and cry uncle, his jaw had clenched and he’d flipped her over and started all up again. Human men didn’t have that kind of stamina, and yet. Hell, she actually might be a bit sore today.

Not bad for a ducky.

_But,_ Faith thought, starting to shift to pull herself out of bed, _nothing to get used to._ Been there, tried that, fucking died. And she didn’t know this guy, not really. He had a smart mouth, a fuck-you attitude, and a wicked cock but… Well, she didn’t know. Except at the moment, aside from B, he seemed to be the only person in the goddamned world that gave a shit she was alive, and most of that was likely due to the sex.

She made to sit up then, and Dean’s arms tightened around her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rumbled in her ear.

“Pretty sure no one’s up yet,” she replied. “Figured it’d be easier to find a new room now. Just kinda pick an empty one.”

He was still for a moment, but a loud kind of still. Like she could hear his brain ticking.

Finally, he said, “You want that, then? Your own room?”

Faith frowned, her heart doing something she definitely did not approve of. “Yeah, maybe I gotta figure if I’m stayin’ first. Not that I have much of anywhere to go. Suppose I could head back to LA and see if Wright could use the muscle. Half of his fucking staff is out in Kansas now.” She twisted so she was on her back and could see his face. This might be the longest they’d gone without sassing. “And the kid don’t need me. Hell, might be easier on her if I split.”

Dean stared at her a long moment, his jaw set. “I wasn’t talking shit the other night, you know. That girl loves you.”

Faith looked away. “Ever notice how it’s easier to love a memory than a person? Memories are static. People can always disappoint you.”

“Look, I know the kid messed up. Hell, the kid knows the kid messed up. But I also know somethin’ about coming back from the dead. It ain’t easy on anyone. Add to the fact that she’s a tangle of teenage hormones and I’m not sure why we expected anything different.”

Faith rolled her eyes and sat up, disentangling herself from Dean entirely now. “I ain’t mad at Ro,” she said, kicking her feet over the side of the bed. “Girl had a right to move on. Everyone did. That’s why I did it in the first place. And look at what she has now. A super slayer complex me and B woulda killed for, a watcher, a retired slayer and her slayer-expert vamp, a staff of demon hunters and a motherfucking angel. What the hell good am I here to anyone? Even if B and Blondie high-tail it back to sunny California, the kid’s more than taken care of.” She sighed and rolled her head back. “Your friend Chuck sent me back but he was kinda vague on the why. Maybe if Ro needed help, I could see it. Even Nick, but he doesn’t need me, either. Been back for two days now and I’ve spent more time with a guy I didn’t know before I kicked it than I have with any of the people I kicked it for.”

She felt Dean shift behind her, then his hand running down the center of her back. “Do you wanna leave?”

The answer to that was hard and instinctual. A foreign pressure burned up her sinuses. “Not sure where to go, but it’s not like evil has an address. Plenty of shit to kill across the globe.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yeah, she’d kinda hoped he wouldn’t notice that. Faith tightened her hands into fists and set them in her lap, breathing hard. It’d be easy to lie but there was no point.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said at last, at once feeling more exposed than she had in years. Possibly ever. “But I don’t want to be anyone’s burden, either. Spent too much of my life that way—showing up and fucking shit up. Trying to fit into a family that ain’t mine. Just breeds resentment and bullshit. I dunno what all Nicky and Ro told you about the way things were back in LA, but it wasn’t all sunshine and daisies. I’ve never been anywhere or with anyone where I wasn’t a stand-in for someone else. Except Angel.”

At that she couldn’t keep the tears back. It had been a long time—a damn long time—since she’d let herself think of Angel, the reason she was still alive at all. He’d helped her navigate her way back from the darkest things she’d done, given her the chance no one else would, and she hadn’t been able to save him from his own worst nightmare. Of everyone in her life, he’d understood her the best, because he’d lived it too. Knew what it was like to face each day with the ghosts of the past weighing you down and hope that eventually the good you did could possibly balance out the bad. And that had been all her for Angel—he’d stood up to Buffy for her when no one else with half a brain would have. He’d visited her in jail. He’d been a friend, and not the way Nick had been. With Nick, it had been the blind leading the blind, and he’d been too lost in his own shit to see through the wall she put up around him. And then later, she’d been a stand-in with him, too. She’d told herself it hadn’t bothered her because she didn’t have gushy feelings for him, and while that last part was and always had been true, she couldn’t deny that it had smarted not being enough for someone.

Wes had been her chance to pay forward the gift Angel had given her, but she hadn’t been enough for him, either. She’d been the thing men used to try and forget something or someone else.

“I know you don’t know me all that well,” Dean said at last, sitting up as well. “But…for what it’s worth, I meant what I said last night.”

“What, that you prefer being called a cowboy?” Faith replied, her defenses flaring. It sounded like he was about to say something important and she didn’t know how she felt about that. “Or that one blowjob’s off my tab? Or that I’m a bitch who doesn’t have anything?”

Dean swore under his breath. “Yeah, I was an ass. But you were kind of bein’ a bitch.”

Faith twisted to glare at him, but he just grinned.

“I kinda like it when you’re a bitch.”

“I’m always a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, guess that means I kinda like you.” Dean cleared his throat and looked away. “When I said you’re awesome, by the way. That’s what I was talking about. And…slayers and vamps and all that aside, Sammy and me could use extra awesome around here.” A pause. “Sammy’s got his hands full with the kid anyway, so a lot of the time I’m going out solo. Wouldn’t mind the backup. Especially since you do kick so much ass.”

He was having trouble maintaining eye contact now, and some color had risen to his cheeks. Faith didn’t know what to think or say, but that awful, exposed feeling she’d had a moment ago had started to recede. Mainly because Dean had just done the same thing, putting them on even footing.

That was something she knew didn’t come easy for him—he kept himself well guarded, much like she did. And the fact that he’d done it just now, for her…well, that meant something. But like last night, she scared shitless about examining it further.

Also scared shitless about leaving it behind. Something she realized then she didn’t want to do.

“Gonna need some coffee to feel human,” Dean said. The mattress dipped again and then he was on his feet, pulling on a pair of sweats. “And to take a shower.”

“Yeah. I need one of those too.”

“Well, didn’t wanna say anything, but you smell a bit ripe.” He was ready with a smirk when she arched an eyebrow at him, then pulled open the door…and almost tripped over himself.

Faith snorted, tension receding for a moment. “Ducky, you are one clumsy motherfucker.”

But he was bent over, picking up something she couldn’t see, a frown on his face. When he straightened, he had a box in his arms, one with a sheet of paper attached. He studied the paper for a second before meeting her gaze, all teasing gone.

“What?”

He didn’t reply, just walked over and deposited the box on the bed. Faith rose up on her knees to check it out, and when her gaze caught the note, her breath hitched.

“Open it,” Dean said softly.

Faith stared at the note a beat longer, completely at a loss. “Maybe she got sick of Nick and decided to give me his head,” she murmured, then pried the box open. “There’s a peace-offering for you.”

But it wasn’t Nick’s head. It was a collection of things she’d left from her old life. Her favorite pair of jeans. The yoga pants she wore for workouts. A handful of tank tops and her old leather jacket, and the matching pair of leather pants. A collection of bras and underwear, and goddamn, her favorite blade, along with a few of the stakes she’d sharpened herself.

They hadn’t tossed her stuff away. Hadn’t tossed _her _away.

The tears came again, and this time there was no fighting them. Faith sat back, covering her mouth as the last two days came crashing down on her. She felt weak and shitty and hated that she was crying, but hating it only made the tears come harder, until something was pressing so hard on her chest she thought it might just crack. Faith had only had one other breakdown in her life—that night forever ago when she’d been pounding on Angel in the rain, screaming at him to do the decent thing and kill her because certainly death would be better than living as she was. She’d wanted to die so badly that night and he hadn’t let her.

Now she wanted to live and she didn’t know how. Didn’t know where to start or what was left for her.

The door closed, and for a moment she thought Dean had decided to give her some space, but then his arms were around her and he was reeling her into him. And Faith, without thinking, let him. Hell, she buried her face into his shoulder and let loose as she hadn’t in years, appreciating that there was someone to hold her up even as she resented it. It and him and that Chuck asshole and this stupid situation and every rotten step and decision she’d made that had brought her here.

He didn’t tell her it was all right, which was good ‘cause she would have broken his nose. He didn’t tell her to let it all out. He didn’t whisper comforting little platitudes or shush her or do any of the shit she’d have expected from pretty much anyone else. He didn’t tell her to do anything. Just let her cry.

Just held her like he cared.

And son of a bitch if that didn’t make her cry harder.


	17. Chapter 17

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Sam panted as he and Rosalie jogged down the road between the bunker and the main part of Lebanon.

“Yeah,” she responded simply.

“Hanging back with me? You’ve usually lapped me twice.” While the pace pushed his limits to run and talk, he knew this was just a leisurely stroll for a slayer.

He garnered the response he was looking for. She took off in a sprint and was soon so far ahead he could no longer see her. He wasn’t sure this morning if she would turn around and run back in a few minutes or just wait for him some point down the road. She seemed to be harboring some of her currently familiar teenage angst this morning. Maybe Buffy would whip her out of it later with combat training.

Sam was beyond grateful that Buffy was here to help him out. Truth was he was ridiculously under qualified for his job. Two months in as Rosalie’s Watcher was still as strange as day one. Giles and Hunter’s crash course had been overwhelming with knowledge and responsibility. Those two trained years for their roles.

Granted, he had too, in a different way. Years of hunting, research and dealing with some really apocalyptic shit had left him a few things he could pass on to help Rosalie on her journey. Though most days he felt more like a motivational life coach or big brother than an actual mentoring guide through the supernatural, he still hoped there was something beneficial he could teach. Even if it was a list of what not to do in a crisis.

She’d stopped in the middle of the road, hands on her hips as she looked toward the horizon ahead of them. Coming up next to her, he took a break, bracing his hands on his knees. “Better,” he huffed.

“You know I always thought I was mature,” she said without moving. “People started telling me I was wise beyond my years even before I could tie my shoes.”

“The visions,” Sam agreed, remembering she had been a Seer long before the Slayer.

“The visions,” Rosalie repeated with disdain. “But also just the way I handled things. First with my mom and brother, then with my life as a hunter’s kid on the road.”

“I remember that actually. You were pretty young when we met, but you didn’t run around like a little kid. Didn’t you pull a knife on Dean that night he snuck into your room to see Nikki?”

She turned to him and smiled at that. “Scared the shit out of him.” After a moment her smile faded and she turned her head forward once more. “Really all through everything I was pretty grown up. Even after I was Chosen, I think I handled it better than most because I’d already been living my life with both eyes open. Nobody needed to explain vampires or slayers or that with great power comes great responsibility. I’d been shouldering responsibility since I was four fucking years old.”

“Definitely.”

She looked at him with glassy eyes and a pained expression. “So why am I being such a dumbass immature bitch now?”

“Whoa. A little harsh?”

She shook her head. “Seriously. I handled puberty better than I’ve handled the last few days. God, just this morning I tried to fix one problem and started another.”

“How so?”

“Ever have a girl bring up having babies out of the blue?”

His eyes went wide. “You didn’t!”

She rolled her eyes and flung her hands in the air. “If it was any other guy than Nick, I’d be expecting he’d be gone by the time we got back. Nick just knows I’d track him down and drag him back to Kansas if he ever tried to get away.”

Sam smiled. “That and he’s totally in love with you.”

“For now. If I keep this shit up, I’m sure I can fuck that up too.”

He walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I seriously doubt it, Ro. But even so, you’re years away from causing that kind of damage with him. Pretty sure he embodies the definition of for better or for worse.”

She scrunched her nose in disgust and stepped back. “Jesus, you sweat like a pig.”

“Well, now you’re fucking up this moment,” he teased.

She gave a watery laugh. “Whatever.” She took a few long breaths before continuing. “I can’t believe I screwed things up with Faith so bad. Some stupid flashback to all those months her and Nick played Hide the Penis and suddenly I turned into the crazy girlfriend.”

“Well, truthfully I can’t really blame you.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “It’s normal to be jealous of seeing your partner with their ex. Even if you know he’s happier with you or that they were just friends with benefits.”

She snorted. “Normal? Nothing around here’s that.” She shook her head. “No, I know better, too. Nick loves me and I know he’d never cheat. And Faith loves me and would never hurt me. Well, at least she did. Before I slapped her with a big ole dose of immature hormonal petty bullshit.”

“I’m sure she still does. You got to remember she’s processing a lot with coming back. Trust me, it’s tougher than you think popping back from the dead and seeing how life carried on without you. She’s just lucky she was up in the happy place. Hell has a whole other level of shit to adjust to.”

“Which a better person would have realized. Fuck, she saved my life. Sacrificed herself for _me_. And the first thing I should have done was thanked her. Hugged her. Tell her how much I’d prayed to see her face again.”

“Even you aren’t perfect. We all make mistakes. And it’s not too late. You still have time to make it up to her.”

“I know.” She sighed and wrung her hands. “I left her a peace offering this morning. I’m so nervous about how she’ll take it that I’m nauseous. Honestly I stopped running because I thought I might throw up.”

Sam didn’t know why the thought crossed his mind. Maybe because she’d said something about it earlier. “Are you pregnant?”

Rosalie’s eyes flew wide with abject horror. “Fuck no!”

“You sure?”

“All the no’s in the fucking world!”

“Because…well it all could just be normal, but the hormones, the nausea, the random thoughts of babies…”

“The baby thought was just about giving my future kid a stake. Telling a story about the woman who’d saved my life. Not…that!”

“I’m just saying, you and Nick still using protection?”

“I have a birth control implant, so yes.”

“But how effective is it? Did you two wait the right amount of time before going commando? I know from my old girlfriend Jessica that you have to wait a few days before the medicine is fully active.”

“I hate you, Sam Winchester!”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m already a stupid pile of teenage drama and you throw a baby scare in my face? Now?”

“Maybe you should check and make sure.”

“Well, now I have to, you giant moose ass!” She took off running back toward the bunker. Just before she was out of earshot she screamed. “I hate you, Sam fucking Winchester!”

On the bright side, after this she’d realize that she wasn’t the only one who could say stupid shit they regretted.

*~*~*

Well, that was awkward.

Dean has experienced a lot of mornings after. And yes, while some had ended in tears, it had normally been the result of him pulling the plug on any future nights before.

Two days. Two measly fucking days and he was already doing stupid shit like getting all up in his feels with words and the touchy feely shit. He’d tried to walk out when he saw the waterworks, but had shut the door with him on the wrong side. He’d gone and held her while she cried not because she was naked in his bed, but because he’d wanted to show her she wasn’t alone. That he cared.

Why the fuck did he care? Why the hell had he dreamed about her? Over and over the last couple months, he’d relived that night in the cemetery. Watching time and time again as they’d fought in vain to stop the inevitable. To stop her disappearing in a magnificent ball of white light.

It pissed him off really. First, that he couldn’t save her. He’d been right there. Surely a few more seconds and he’d been able to pull the bracelet off. At least pry it open enough to stop the spell from working. Now he was pissed that he liked her. And he’d told her that he liked her. And he knew she understood the fact that was a more than friends declaration just as much as he knew she was the kind of bitch that was bound to throw it back in his face at the worst possible time.

Slamming the cabinet door shut, he wanted to punch himself in the face. The woman had more baggage than a cargo ship. Amazing sex aside, that alone was enough to make a smarter man run the other direction. Add in the fact she was a closed off, mouthy little bitch who hadn’t said two nice things about him in the past forty-eight hours, and he was just sick. A sick motherfucker who was a glutton for pain and suffering. He needed a shrink. Or a drink. Or a swift kick to the head.

“Someone’s extra broody this morning.”

Dean whipped around to find Dawn in the doorway. “Just needing my morning brew,” he lied.

“Agreed.” She walked over to the coffee pot and turned it on. “Actually remembered to preload it last night. I rewarded myself with a cookie.”

“We got cookies?”

Smiling, she padded over to one of the cabinets and whipped out a package of Oreos. She tossed them his direction. “If you eat them all, I’ll cut you.”

Fumbling with the cellophane wrapper, he snagged two chocolaty circles and immediately popped one in his mouth. “Mmmm,” he said closing his eyes to relish the sweetness. He’d forgotten the fact that he hadn’t eaten dinner before starting in on his marathon with Faith. He really needed to carb up more in the evenings. She’d worked him sore.

No, he chastised himself. He needed to stop messing around with her. Let her get her own room. Hell, let her leave altogether. Get her out of his system and his head back to focusing on hunting, drinking and banging lots of different chicks.

Chicks that lacked the skills of one particular brunette. Lacked the passion. Lacked the muscles that squeezed his dick so hard it hurt. It hurt so good. And fuck if he didn’t want to do it again and again until…

“Hey!” Dawn snapped, grabbing the pack of cookies. “Stop making out with my breakfast.”

He swallowed and gave her a smile. “Mes like cookies,” he said, impersonating Cookie Monster. He shoved the second one in his mouth before dusting the crumbs off on his sweats.

With the Oreos under her arm, she turned and poured a cup of coffee before making her way over to the table and having a seat. “If you don’t have another foodgasm, I’ll share.”

Dean grabbed himself a mug of brew and joined her. They sat in comfortable silence for a couple minutes, sipping their drinks and dunking cookies in their cups. “You know she’s trouble, right?” Dawn said quietly.

He started to pretend he didn’t know who _she_ was, but he was dumb enough naturally and didn’t need to play games. “I know you aren’t her biggest fan,” he returned in kind.

“No. I’m not. Did she tell you why?”

Dean shook his head, focusing on the crumbs floating in his coffee. “Doesn’t really need to.”

“Really? Did you know she murdered a guy, Dean?” Her voice remained calm, but he caught a flicker of anger behind her eyes when he looked up at her face.

“Did you know I’ve murdered, too? More than once, Dawn.”

She shook her head. “This guy was innocent.”

“So were they,” Dean responded lowly, watching as her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Well…you changed.”

He gave her a smirk. She was losing her argument. “Yeah, I have. I’ve learned to live with the blood on my hands. Seems to me Faith’s doing the same. Plus, sacrificing yourself for the greater good kinda wipes your slate. At least in my book.”

“Your book?” she teased, obviously trying to diffuse the tension.

He liked Dawn. She was a good girl. Smart, funny, sassy and pretty sure the object of his little brother’s fantasies. She’d grown up in the world of the crazy, so in Dean’s opinion, made her a perfect potential match in the Winchester family. Sammy needed to find a woman who wasn’t evil or easy to kill. “The Book of Dean,” he declared before taking a big gulp of coffee.

“Seriously?” She snickered. “You named it?”

“There’s an entire chapter on why angels are dicks.”

She cocked her head. “What about Cas?”

“Oh, he can be a dick. Trust me.” He chuckled. “But Cas is a chapter all his own. You know it takes an entire liquor store to get him hammered? Just keep him from Nick’s back room and it should be okay.”

“You’re bluffing.”

He laughed at that. “If I had enough money to reimburse Nicky, I’d take you up on the challenge.”

Rosalie burst into the kitchen, looking out of breath. Dean figured his brother was probably still a couple miles out. “Morning, Sunshine,” he greeted. He wasn’t going to get into how the package she’d left outside his door had been received.

“Hey.” She was flushed from exercise, but he saw her cheeks color a little more as she looked his direction. “How’s it going?”

“Cookie?” Dean asked in redirection. He held up an Oreo before shoving it in his mouth. There was still some in the package.

She shook her head. “Dawn, can you run me to the store? Like now?”

The older woman frowned and looked down at herself. “I’m still in my jammies, Ro. Why don’t you just go yourself?”

“Just grab your keys. I won’t tell Nick how you let Spike drink for free again last night.”

Dawn turned to Dean and gave a guilty smile. “Looks like I’m going to the store. Want anything?”

“Breakfast.”

She arched a brow. “What was the half pack of cookies you just ate?”

“Dinner.”

“Cookie Monster,” she chastised before grabbing the Oreos and following Rosalie from the kitchen.

Well, now what was he going to do? Going back to his room was currently not an option. Pouring another cup of coffee, he decided it was time to look for a case. Something far away that hopefully would take a few days. Days he needed to break the spell Faith had cast on him. Because while she’d already gotten in his head, he’d fight like hell to keep her from his heart.

*~*~*

Zack hadn’t solved the mystery by the time his brother texted him the bat signal to come back to the office. He had made some progress at least.

His first stop had been a no-brainer. With the quiet tabs they’d been keeping on Wes the last few weeks, Caritas was one of his usual haunts. The regular bartender had remembered him from a couple nights before mainly because he’d walked out with a hot little human in an evening gown. Zack was expecting to be texted surveillance footage as soon as they had time to pull it up.

His second stop was a rougher establishment. This one was not a human friendly zone, but Zack knew these guys were good at keeping tabs on the hunters about town. They also were a good source of gossip.

There was a game of kitten poker that had been going all night. Zack used some of the company cash in his pocket to buy his way into the game. Unfortunately, he wasn’t coming up with anything useful on Wes or this mystery woman. He did hear about some shifty cargo coming in from China shortly that sounded a little bit like Wolfram and Hart. He made a mental note to see if they couldn’t hit the docks and fuck some shit up next week.

Zack was pretty disappointed when Wright pulled him back to home base. He was up on the table and cashed out six kittens ahead. He pocketed the seventh, a cute little orange tabby with blue eyes. Wright and Kelly were going to kill him, but the kids had been asking for a pet. They were on the cusp of agreeing to a goldfish.

He couldn’t help but give an evil chuckle as he strolled into the Hyperion half an hour after Wright’s text, kitten stowed in his jacket pocket.

“What did you find out?” Giles asked as he made his way over to the powwow that now included the remaining members of the Hogwarts gang, Cordy, Wright, Mary and Gunn.

“Besides the fact that a Fungus Demon and a Kovitch Demon shouldn’t play kitten poker after going on a bender?”

“What’s kitten poker?” a little voice behind him asked. Whipping around, he saw his wife and kiddos had entered the scene.

“Yeah, _Dad_,” Kelly said with a frown. She wasn’t a particular fan of games that involved the potential eating of live baby animals. “Tell your daughter what kitten poker is.”

He laughed. Oh, he was in so much fucking trouble, but it was gonna be worth it. “Kitten poker is where you play cards to win kittens.”

Rosie gave a curious look. “Why do you want kittens?”

“Because they’re fluffier than fish.” He reached down and pulled the orange ball of fur from his pocket, extending it out for Rosie and Will to run and grab.

“You did _not _just do that,” Kelly growled.

“Fucking hell!” Wright snapped. “No way is that nasty furball staying. Cordy and I said no pets.”

If he wanted his wife to back him up, he was disappointed. Cordelia ran over to crouch down next to the kids. “Awww, look! It has little blue eyes!”

If looks could kill, his brother may have just dusted him. “I. Hate. Cats.”

“I know,” Zack said with a smile. “Consider it payback for the vamp-napping.”

“Hey, guys!” Harry snapped. “We can settle...” He tossed a hand toward the kitten. “That later.”

“You’re right though, mate,” Ron said to Wright. “Cats are the bloody devil.”

Hermione smacked him on the shoulder. “Ronald,” she grumbled under her breath.

Harry rolled his eyes and continued. “Sabrina Deanne has requested a meeting. Offsite, as the Hyperion is allegedly being watched. She knows her memory wipe failed, but seems to be more concerned about finding Willow before MACUSA.”

“Sounds like a trap,” Ginny warned.

“That’s why we’re assembling the Avengers,” Wright explained. “The four of you plus two vampires and me. Gunn’s staying here with Mary and Cordy to watch the kids. I’d like Giles to stay too, but—”

“As it pertains to Willow, I find that counterproductive,” Giles said.

Wright nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Well, I don’t love leaving this place so unguarded.”

“I can stay behind, too,” Ron offered, glancing at Hermione. “And Ginny.”

“You’re volunteering me now, are you?” Ginny snapped. “Thanks ever so.”

“Sorry, not my bloody fault you can throw a good hex. Besides, I thought this place you were headed had some provisions.”

Zack looked to Wright. “Where _are_ we heading?”

“Not high on options,” Wright replied, “so…Caritas, mostly due to their sanctuary spell. Lorne phoned into to tell Hector that the place has to clear out by two o’clock.”

“So it makes more sense if Ginny and I stay here,” Ron said. “Also makes more sense if you get one of those sanctuary spells on this place. Ever consider it?”

From the look on Wright’s face, he had not. And he was put out that it had taken someone else to bring this to his attention.

“Caritas, huh?” Zack said to lighten the mood. “Literally just came from there.”

“I’d feel a lot worse about that if you hadn’t brought in a fucking cat.”


	18. Chapter 18

Buffy was in an odd holding pattern. She didn’t want to leave the bunker in case Giles and Mary were able to dig up information on Willow, but she was also getting restless. The most she could hope for was that Rosa Lee’s got a bit out of hand tonight and some demon asses decided to take the party outside. As much as she loved sparring with Spike, it had been a bit too long since she’d gotten to kill something.

Spike was still zonked out from the night before, which had involved karaoke, drinks, a lot of poker, more drinks, and then a very goofy sexy dance that he’d performed while stripping. Apparently, the cards had been hot and he’d managed to win—if his drunken account could be trusted—at least four figures in cash. Cash as in not kittens or ferrets or guinea pigs. He always got a little boozy when on a hot streak, and with Dawn slipping him drinks all night, he’d been all too happy to take advantage.

Which meant that he’d need an extra helping of blood when he awoke. Buffy mixed her own into a protein shake before warming up a couple of bags to bring to her mate. He’d want more later, possibly to drizzle over some Frosted Flakes to or something, but the first couple should be as close to from-the-tab as possible.

Dean had been on his way out when Buffy left the kitchen—looking like a man on a mission. He’d snapped something about how Dawn had taken Rosalie to the store and how he’d have to miss breakfast because he’d found a case that couldn’t wait. Nick and Sam were discussing some Watcherly thing and hadn’t paid her much attention, though Sam had stopped to ask her if she’d be open to lending a hand in combat training that afternoon, muttering something about Rosalie’s sour mood. Since that was something to do, Buffy was more than happy to oblige, and tried not to note too hard about the somewhat railroaded look on Nick’s face, like he was somehow to blame for her teenage hormones.

Buffy turned down the hall to head back to their room—a larger one from the one they’d initially landed in after paying for Dean’s old mattress—and found a freshly showered Faith standing by the door to Dean’s room, looking a bit lost. She had a box in her arms and a Dollar General Store bag dangling from one elbow.

“B,” she said the second their eyes met, “you know where a girl could find a spare room around here?”

Buffy frowned and cast a glance to the right, where Faith had spent the past two nights since her return to life. “You…_wowza_, this room reeks.” She pulled a face and glanced back to Faith. “How in God’s name is Dean still alive?”

“Fuck if I know or care,” Faith muttered, though she glanced up and to the left as she did this, something Spike had long ago told Buffy typically meant someone was lying. “This thing with him’s been fun but I need to cut my losses before the guy gets clingy. Too much of a good thing, and all. So…” She bounced the box a bit in her arms. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

But Buffy wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she was staring at a scrap of fabric just inside Dean’s room that looked suspiciously like the leopard-print dress Faith had been wearing the night before. Or what was left of it, as it seemed to have been ripped in half.

Faith frowned, then turned and followed her gaze. When she turned back, she rolled her eyes and smirked. “Got in the way after a bit,” she said. “Easiest way to get it off was to rip it down the center.”

“Who did the ripping?”

“Think I did, but he tried to lend me some muscle. Though he bitched about it for about an hour since technically he bought the damn thing. Until I gave him something else to do with his mouth.” She winked, all cool Faith and confidence. “But for real, I think last night was it. And I really don’t wanna give the guy the wrong impression by lounging around his space.”

The girl’s scent hit the air a fraction before her voice did. Buffy had no time to warn her sister slayer.

“I had a room,” Rosalie said from behind. Buffy turned and found the girl standing in the mouth of the hallway, her timid eyes going from Faith’s face to the box in her arms and back again. “I mean…they gave me a room. But then I kinda just…shacked up with Nick and never went back in there.” She swallowed hard. “I-it’s right beside mine and Nick’s room if you…if you want it.”

For a long moment, Faith said nothing, just stared at the girl with a stony, unreadable expression. Then, after a moment, she nodded. “All right,” she said.

Rosalie looked like she might start crying. Her lower lip wobbled and her face screwed up…and that was when Buffy noticed the thing she was holding.

“Are you pregnant?”

Rosalie jumped and glanced at the test she had in hand as though it had appeared there on its own. “No. No, no, no, no,” she said in a hard rush. “Definitely not. Definitely. But…I’ve been, ahh, extra touchy the past…” She glanced to Faith, gulped, and back again. “Well, and this morning… See, I made a bad joke and then Sam scared the shit out of me, and—”

“Hold up, Ro,” Faith said, and again, being addressed directly by the other slayer seemed to have Rosalie ready to sob. “You’re making Nicky wrap it, right?”

“I have the implant!” Rosalie snapped. “I can’t be pregnant!”

Faith arched an eyebrow and turned to Buffy, and for the first time since she’d been back, Buffy saw some of the old mischief spark behind her eyes. And she knew, without needing to be told, what was going to come next.

“Didn’t need to drop cash on the at-home test,” Faith replied, nodding to Buffy. “B here can tell you if you have a bun in the oven.”

Rosalie swallowed. “Sh-she can?”

Without missing a beat, Buffy nodded, doing her best to keep her face stoic. “Oh yeah. Heartbeat, and all. If it’s there, I’ll be able to hear it.” She took a few steps closer. “It’ll be faint, so let me put my ear against your belly.”

Now Rosalie looked just plain terrified, but she didn’t move as Buffy lowered herself to her knees and pressed her face against Rosalie’s stomach. She waited a moment, then drew in a sharp breath and staggered to her feet.

“What?” Rosalie demanded, her eyes manic. “There’s nothing there, right? Nothing!”

Buffy didn’t reply, just frowned thoughtfully at Rosalie’s midsection. Then she turned to Faith. “You know him best. On a scale from one-to-ten, how badly is he gonna wig out?”

Faith chuckled and shook her head, turning back to Rosalie. “Damn, girl. You’re in for it.”

“No. No, no, no, no.” Rosalie abruptly shot past them, cursing the entire way.

Faith didn’t start laughing in earnest until the sound of a slamming door rang through the bunker. “Aw, man. I kinda feel bad about that.”

“You feel bad?” Buffy replied, trying to sound stern like she hadn’t been in on it, but laughing too hard to come close. “I’m supposed to be the good one.”

“That’s what you get for shacking up with Mr. Soulless. Get down with your bad self.” Faith shot an amused glance down the direction Rosalie had disappeared. “If she asks, I’ll just say we’re even. Her old digs down this way, then?”

Buffy barked a final laugh and nodded. “Come on. It’s on the way to our room.” She paused as they passed Dean’s room. “You tell him you were moving out?”

“Might not know it for lookin’ at him, but the boy ain’t dumb,” Faith said as she fell into place beside her. “Survey says he’ll find out tonight when I don’t fuck his brains out.”

“Aww, I was kinda hoping you guys would… I dunno…”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “That ain’t me, B. Never has been. And I don’t think it’s him, either.”

“And yet you’re leaving because he might get clingy?”

She shrugged. “It ain’t him, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be. Don’t wanna run that risk.”

Buffy offered a stoic nod, though she found that rather telling. Never in her life had Faith been the type of person who gave a shit what the men she bedded thought of her. She’d deflowered Xander and then, when he’d thought they’d had some kind of connection, almost choked him to death. Every guy who’d been since then, she’d shrugged and rolled with it. If they thought something was up, she’d set them straight, usually by laughing in their face. That she was the one creating distance…

Well… Buffy wouldn’t press the issue. Not when she and Faith were getting along.

Besides…

Rosalie popped her head out of her room just as they approached, her face set into a scowl. “I hate you both,” she said, holding up the decidedly negative pregnancy test.

Buffy and Faith met each other’s eyes, then started laughing again. “Sorry,” Buffy said. “It was…let’s just say, way too easy.”

“Can you really hear heartbeats?” Rosalie asked, wrapping her arms around herself. “Like, prenatal heartbeats?”

“Yes, I can,” Buffy replied. “And I don’t need to press my ear to your belly. Let this be a lesson to you: Slayer, be less gullible.” Then, still grinning, she pointed out the empty room for Faith and bounced the bagged blood she’d brought for Spike in her other hand. “I got a cranky vamp to feed. You two good?”

She didn’t realize how loaded that question was until there was nothing she could do to take it back. So instead, she watched as Faith and Rosalie locked gazes, the former appraising, the latter a mixture of annoyed but heart-on-sleeve nervous.

At last, Faith winked. “Yeah, B. We’re five-by-five.”

*~*~*

Sabrina managed not to shake too much when the door to Caritas opened and a steady stream of people who didn’t like her very much filed in. There was Wright, looking suspicious and wary as he had this morning, then the two vampires—Wright’s brother and sister-in-law, followed by Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The man she knew to be Rupert Giles completed the party, and when he turned to close the door, the resounding _thunk _couldn’t help but make her think of that scene in _Indiana Jones _where the Nazis had locked Harrison Ford and his girlfriend in with the snakes.

She forced her throat to work, summoning that spirited courage that had gotten her this far. “Thank you all for meeting with me. I know, as far as you are concerned, I am not the easiest person to trust.”

“Why ever would you think that?” Mr. Giles said in a way that was so completely British she had to snap back the response that wanted to come out—something about Boston Harbor and unscheduled but very influential tea parties.

Better to start this conversation by addressing the elephant in the room. Namely, herself.

“As Mr. Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley know, MACUSA policy is quite different from Britain’s. We have survived this long because we are overly cautious in whom we allow to know our secrets.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione said bluntly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said _that’s not true._ You have survived this long _and _you are overly cautious. One did not cause the other. That’s a logical fallacy.”

Giles nodded, his mouth twitching. “Indeed. Post hoc ergo propter hoc.”

“Gesundheit,” Zack Morris offered, then winced when his wife elbowed him.

“The Magical Congress of the United States of America has no concept of what life in this country would look like if their policies were more similar to ours,” Hermione continued rather coldly. “I understand that is not for you to decide, Ms. Deanne, but better that we don’t start out with an outright lie.”

All right. Sabrina straightened her shoulders and spread her hands. “Yes, that is correct. And actually one of the many issues I have…contemplated since I realized just how involved certain sections of the NoMaj population are with the magical world. When I realized that depriving you of your memories, Mr. Wright”—she nodded at Wright—“would essentially leave you without a means of supporting your family, or without any familial connections. I have actually done quite a lot of research over the past few weeks, and it seems that our government has a long history of allowing certain…NoMajes to live. Those like Mr. Wright, who were demon hunters. And others like Mr. Giles, who were watchers for the Slayer.”

“In other words,” Harry said, his voice also icy, “anyone who helps keep your secret is good enough to live.”

“Yes. That is the conclusion I came to as well. Demon hunters help contain the demon population, which ensures that most NoMajes have no idea how complicated their world actually is. The same with the Slayer. So, knowing this, the next logical question was—”

“Why target us,” Kelly Morris said softly.

“Yes, and I believe I know the answer to that as well.”

Wright snickered and glanced at his brother. “I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

“Wolfram and Hart,” Zack replied.

“If it’s not, I’ll name my next kid after Nick Hunter.”

Sabrina nodded as though she understood why this was such a radical statement. She might not know the details of everyone’s personal relationships, but she could read the cues well enough. “Yes,” she said. “MACUSA is Wolfram and Hart’s largest client.”

Wright rolled his head back and groaned. “Of course they are. Who needs one evil organization when you can get two for the same price?”

“MACUSA is not evil. It’s—”

“I would say wiping memories willy-nilly isn’t exactly _virtuous_,” Hermione snapped. “How many lives have been ruined because you separated families? Cost someone their job? MACUSA might not set out to do these things, but they are the very real consequences of actions they have taken.”

“Don’t you think I know that? It’s why I’m here now.”

“I thought you were here because of Willow,” Mr. Giles said softly. “Were we mistaken?”

“No.” She looked at all of them, dropped her shoulders with a hard sigh. “No, I am…quite concerned about this mess with Willow. The only bright side I can see at the moment is MACUSA remains unaware that she reversed her memory spell. As long as that is true, we might be able to save a lot of lives.”

“So MACUSA doesn’t know about the memory spell,” Zack Morris said slowly, “but _you _do. How is that?”

“Good question.” Wright crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Lady, I don’t remember you in London, unless you did some of that funky wand stuff to my head.”

This was the part she’d been dreading the most, though why, Sabrina couldn’t say. Perhaps because she had grown rather fond of Wesley over the past few weeks, and she knew the people in front of her did not share that fondness. Moreover, she didn’t want a reason to _not _like him. The things she knew he’d done had been horrible enough—horrible, but understandable on some level.

“I know because I was with someone who was under the spell when it was lifted.”

There was a long pause, then Zack Morris’s eyes went wide and he pointed at her. “Wes!” he practically shrieked. “You’re the human who’s been sneaking around with Wes!”

If possible, the glower on Wright’s face darkened and he muttered an oath. “Great. Just great. This just keeps getting better and better. You also the reason we can’t find him?”

No sense lying. “I told him to get out of town. Since you can’t find him, I assume he agreed.” She swallowed. “He found me the night after I… Well, after _you _altered _my _memories. He rescued me from a vampire attack—”

“Rescued you,” Zack Morris echoed dully. “A witch.”

“A witch who hadn’t expected a vampire attack,” Sabrina shot back defensively. “I told him I would have to modify his memory and he… Well, he seemed relieved, truth be told. There were things he’d done that he didn’t care to remember. A woman he loved and lost. And another woman he loved and…got killed. Along with the daughter of his best friend, whom he’d nearly gotten killed in his quest for revenge. He wanted me to remove those memories and… Truthfully, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is the reason I’m here. He’s the one who made me question everything I thought I knew about my job and what we do. I was curious as to what would happen to him afterward and…we might have started meeting. Here. He approached me—I never intended to approach him—and we became…friendly.”

Wright looked about ready to rip her head off. “You’re the reason I couldn’t kill the bastard.”

“He felt terrible for what—”

_“Good!” _Wright snapped. “He _should _feel terrible. He _should _want to die. He _should _be made to suffer because he almost cost my seventeen year-old daughter her life over a grudge against my brother, who, in case you hadn’t heard, didn’t have a goddamned soul at the time when he killed _my _friend.”

“We are not here to discuss Wes,” Sabrina said, her voice cracking. “Willow is the threat. And if MACUSA learns what she has done—if she does anymore magic on that scale, they will fire everything they have at her and if England is anything to go off, she will fire back. The entire state is in jeopardy. Perhaps the west coast.”

There was a long silence. Then Mr. Giles cleared his throat.

“So, Ms. Deanne,” he said, dropping his glasses into a waiting handkerchief, “what is it you propose we do regarding Willow Rosenberg?”

Sabrina sighed. At last they were getting somewhere.

“Find her first,” she said. “And take her out.”

*~*~*

Getting a new room wasn’t enough. She still had the stink of her earlier breakdown all over her, and that was something a girl couldn’t just shake off. Particularly since she’d gotten all weepy around a guy, of all things humiliating. Worse yet—a guy she was fucking. _On the regular. _After talking to him about her _feelings_. It was gross and unnatural and Faith needed to get the fuck away. First by showering the whole ordeal off her, as though some hot water and soap would erase the fact that she’d sobbed herself hoarse, then by hauling her shit out of his room—something that should given her more satisfaction than it had. Hell, she’d even found time to make up with Rosalie in the interim. Not that everything was peaches and rainbows with the kid, but all things considered, yeah, Faith felt pretty damn five-by-five about the whole thing, which was a far cry from where she’d been that morning.

So, after getting everything set up in her new room, she’d searched for something to do. Lo and fucking behold, she’d found a laptop opened to a news article that screamed _otherworldly shit_. And look at that. Less than four hours away.

After finagling access to Spike’s car—an old-school mustard-colored Oldsmobile that actually drove like the fucking wind—Faith had hit the road.

And now she was in Osage City, in an alley, staring at the decimated husk of something that had once been a human. Its mouth was open and set into a mask of frozen horror. Clumps of melted skin, tissue, and blood streamed down the man’s cheeks and two blackened burn marks was all that remained of his eyes. Worse still, he covered in smoking yellow puss that seemed to be eating through what was left of his skin and clothing. It was, in a word, disgusting, and not in her wheelhouse.

Faith wrinkled her nose and fished out the cell phone Buffy had lent her. It was Spike’s, so the first contact icon thankfully went to the Slayer in question.

“That was fast,” Buffy answered on the first ring.

“I gotta thing here. It’s eight kinds a nasty.” She knelt beside it to get a closer look, but was a bit wary of touching the puss. “I’m lookin’ at a dude, all kinds of dead. He’s covered in this yellow gunk and his eyes are burned out. Sound familiar?”

“Ick, and no. I… Wait a minute.” There was muffled conversation. “Spike asked if it looked like he…_melted_.”

“Yeah. Like, you ever see that second _Child’s Play_ movie? The end of that.”

“I so don’t wanna know, but Spike… Okay, yellow puss, burned out eyes. Spike thinks it’s something called a Kraelek demon. Hold on.”

There was a shuffle, then the blond Brit’s voice came over the line.

“Kraeleks are right nasty buggers, pidge,” he said. “Mercenaries. Actually fought one the night I met Bite Size. We reckoned Wolfram and Hart sent it after her and Zangy.”

“Okay, how do I kill it?”

“Go for the head, but watch the eyes. It looks you dead on and out go the lights.”

“Great. Like Medusa. And the puss?”

“Goes down the throat and melts all the inside bits. Bloody horrible way to go. Even for vampires. They melt our innards and then we can’t eat properly.”

Faith sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, so I got a thing that’s probably just a lackey for something worse that I can’t look at but need to behead before it sprays me with its acid puss.” She thought on this a second, then decided it was worth the trade-off of getting out of the bunker. Away from Dean. Monsters she could kill—feelings were a different beast. “Looks like I got me a party. Tell B not to wait up. Mama might be a while.”

There was another shuffle, then Buffy was on the line again. “Want help?”

“You kiddin’? I’m just happy to have me a challenge.”

“Don’t die again, okay?”

“Aww, B. You’re goin’ all mushy on me.”

“Just call if you need backup.”

“I won’t.” Faith disconnected the call before Buffy could say anything else, then rose to her feet. Thankfully, she’d had the foresight to pack an artillery of weapons she hoped wouldn’t be missed at the bunker. In the Olds was a sword, a double-barrel shotgun, a pistol, a hunting ax, a handful of stakes, several bottles of holy water and a cross or two. On her person was the knife Rosalie had returned to her this morning. The sword or the ax should do just fine to take this beastie out, but when she found the ringleader?

Damn, what a girl wouldn’t do for a flamethrower.

“Gotta remember to put that on my wish-list,” she muttered, right before hearing a timely growl from behind.

The growl first, then the scent. Rotten and cloying and everywhere.

“Oh fuck me,” she muttered, keeping her gaze to the ground as she turned. Periphery vision would be her friend in this fight. Faith seized the familiar handle of the blade, popping her neck.

“All right, big guy. You have your dancin’ shoes on? ‘Cause I was hoping to find me a challenge.”

She was just about to leap into action when something skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alley. Faith whipped around in time to see a gun pointed at her head, and catch the eyes of the person holding it.

For a second she was too shocked to do much more than stare.

“Oh, you’ve _got _to be kidding me,” Dean Winchester snapped like _she’d _done something wrong.

“Gotta say, Ducky, you have some hella good timing,” Faith said, both irritated and relieved to see him, then more irritated that she was relieved. Another growl from behind her reminded her she didn’t have time to chat. “Don’t look it in the eyes, whatever you do.”

“Huh?”

But she’d slammed her eyes shut and back-flipped into action, blade at the ready.


	19. Chapter 19

Well, this was disappointing. All the rumors downstairs were this chick was the key to Armageddon. She definitely had the power. She actually threw off such a strong signal that demons were working to avoid her at all costs.

He had not been intimidated. He’d been excited.

But Lucifer’s excitement waned when he realized she was about to off herself. You can’t be evil and suicidal. That just made you sad.

“I know what you did last summer, Willow,” he said. “Well, it’s been a few now.”

“Michael? As in the Bible?” Her eyes grew wide. “Are you here to smite me?”

He chuckled. “Hell no.” He paused. “See what I did there?”

She tried and failed at a smile. “I just don’t know what you want. With me.”

Showtime. “Willow, Willow, Willow. Wanted by heaven and hell. While you’ve been a naughty girl, Daddy knows you didn’t mean to.”

“H-He does? God knows I’m not evil?”

Yeah, he was disappointed. He’d hoped she’d be ready to go full Dark Side, but his backup plan would work just fine. He hadn’t earned the street name Prince of Lies for nothing. “He sent me, didn’t he? His favorite son. And he sent me with a message.”

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

Damn, this girl was desperate for redemption. Guilt was such an easy emotion to target. “You can fix it, Willow. All of it. The past. The present. The future.”

She shook her head. “No, I can’t. Last time I tried, I nearly ended the world.”

He smiled. “I know. But last time you didn’t have me.”

She frowned. “And what can you do?”

“I’m an angel, sweetheart. You ever hear of time travel?”

“I was told the only way was through Time-Turners and those had all been sought out and destroyed. I know. I looked.”

“Yes, well I’m a Time-Turner.” He tapped his chest. “Comes with the full Grace Package. Got a lot of other neat tricks, too.”

“So you can bring Tara back?”

“We can bring her back or even go back and redo the whole shebang. Whatever you want.”

She wasn’t as dumb as he’d hoped. He saw the doubt and mistrust hit her face. “Why? Why would God… Why would you do that?”

“Because Jesus loves you, Willow,” he said with so much sweetness he nearly gagged on the words. “God gave you these gifts and he wants you to use them for good.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” He stood and walked toward her. “The world is in danger. Lucifer walks among us.”

“Lucifer? You’re joking.”

He laughed. Oh, if she only knew. “Trust me, he’s closer than you think. He has a plan. A plan that only you can stop.” Or start, as the case actually was.

“You…you and God want me to stop Lucifer? _The_ Lucifer?”

“There’s a Hellmouth in Lebanon, Kansas. It’s been dormant for over a century now. Actually the oldest in North America. Big, strong and itching with all kinds of baddies. Think you’re familiar with a little group called the Men of Letters, right? Why do you think they put a bunker out in BFE?”

He saw the wheels turning in her mind. She was buying it.

“Lucifer has been trying to open it for weeks.” Months actually, but who’s counting? “He’s getting close.” Really, he’d hit a dead end and needed more magic juice than he could muster. “But you can stop it.” Or open it.

“How?”

“There’s a spell. It would basically put a permanent lock on the Hellmouth and keep it from opening forever.” Which was complete and utter bullshit. There was no such thing and she couldn’t find it anywhere to prove him wrong.

“So, you’re saying that if I save the world from Lucifer by locking down this Hellmouth, God will save Tara? Even fix everything so that I never did anything to hurt anyone?”

“Exactly! Call it a miracle.”

She frowned. “It sounds too good to be true, honestly.”

Well, that’s because it was. “Willow, you must have faith in the Lord. Through him all things are possible.”

Slowly, she nodded. “They say that. I’ve heard that before.”

“Yes, they do.” Idiots. “So whadaya say, Willow? You ready to show Lucifer what you can do?”

“Okay.”

The devil was heading down to Kansas and he had a Hellmouth to steal.

*~*~*

“Take her out?” Zack asked. “As in go all mobster on her ass? You can’t be serious.” He looked around the room to gauge everyone’s reactions.

Giles looked ready to lose his shit on this little witch. “That is _not_ an option.” His face was red as he placed his glasses firmly on. “We are not _assassinating _her for merely performing a memory reversal.”

“Agreed,” Harry responded. “I understand she’s a threat—”

“Do you?” Sabrina asked sharply. “Do you really? Because record has it _you_ were originally on the Auror team sent in to stop her a decade ago.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed with color. “Yes, But those orders changed once it was determined she wasn’t a threat.”

Sabrina barked a laugh. “A threat? Harry fucking Potter was assigned to guard her.” She cast her angry eyes toward Hermione. “Weren’t you asked by the Ministry to come work specifically because they thought as a NoMaj-born, you’d be the best at watching for any signs of trouble? Befriend her and make sure to put her down if she showed any signs of magical rabies?”

“That was _not _my assignment,” Hermione huffed.

“Really? Because that’s exactly what was in the report sent to MACUSA. That’s why the Ministry went in afterward and reinforced her memory blocks. It’s why they went and wiped everyone in the Watchers Council from remembering what she’d done. To ensure that she wouldn’t go off like a magical bomb and destroy half of Europe.”

“Wait,” Wright said holding up a hand. “You guys have been playing like this was all news to you.” He looked to Harry and Hermione with shock. “Is she saying that you guys have been in on it the whole time?”

“Not…exactly,” Harry said slowly, turning to meet Hermione’s eye.

“We weren’t given all the details,” she said in a rush of words. “Even Harry didn’t know everything she’d done and every memory she’d altered.”

“Right,” the wizard responded with a nod. “And our orders were merely to watch her and keep her from anything that may cause her harm.”

Kelly turned to Giles. “I don’t get it. Who are the bad guys?”

He sighed with defeat. “I don’t know.” He looked from Harry and Hermione, to Sabrina and finally back to Kelly and Zack. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

*~*~*

What the actual fuck?

Dean processed her words and quickly switched his gaze from the fucking crazy looking monster to the crazy looking woman swinging a knife back and forth in front of it.

“Faith, what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

“Climbing Mount Everest wearing a scuba tank. What the fuck do you think, Dean?”

Oh, he was thinking a lot. But now wasn’t the time to start a back and forth banter match. Instead, he raised his pistol and tried to aim for the ugly fucker growling at his fuck buddy. Keeping his eyes focused only on Faith, he tried and failed to get a good shot.

“Are you going to help or just stand there and watch my ass?”

She was bobbing and weaving from the monster’s grasp so fast it was impossible to pick up on a pattern to her movements. The fucker had to be as confused as him as he watched her bounce around, thrusting the knife forward with each step.

“I can’t…” He took his chances and looked the monster full on. As he’d hoped, the creature was more focused on than the Slayer with the knife than the dude with the gun. He wasn’t sure how to kill this thing. Chances were head or heart. Just as Faith lunged forward and landed a stab in the fucker’s abdomen, he double-tapped the trigger.

He knew she’d jump back before the bullets landed, but had held his breath until he saw the flesh tear open on the monster’s chest. He quickly focused on Faith, first to make sure one of the bullets hadn’t gotten her and also because he was pretty sure the thing would be looking at him now.

“Goddammit, Ducky!” she screamed. “The fucking _head_, you fucking fucker!”

“_SON OF A BITCH!_” He didn’t know if he was angrier at her for not telling or himself for guessing wrong. “You could have mentioned that!”

“Busy here!”

“You had time for Mount Everest in scuba gear, but not _head shot_?”

The creature made a new kind of growl. Dean didn’t dare look up, but saw Faith take a giant flip backward and toward the left. Then he saw a giant stream of…something fly to where she had stood moments before. “The fuck?” he cried. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah.” She’d lost her bitchy tone. Dean was officially freaked now.

“Did you know they did that?”

“Kinda.” He heard a little breathiness in her voice. It wasn’t sexy now, but terrifying. “Didn’t know it was so projectile.”

“Right.” Dean took a few steps forward, poising himself to turn and shoot the motherfucker’s eyes out. “Do you think he knows English?”

He saw her eyes look up at him briefly. Under the fear, she still had her snarky spark. “I don’t know. Forgot to ask where’s he’s from.” She turned her head to the monster and closed her eyes. “Hey, Demon, _tu hablas inglas_?”

“_Puta_,” Dean responded.

“I heard you, _cabrón_,” Faith snapped.

For his part, the demon didn’t seem to respond any differently to English or Spanish. _“Gira a la izquierda_,” he said, telling her to go left.

“_Si_,” she replied with a nod.

“_Tres_, Faith?”

“‘Kay,” she responded. She dove forward to grab the demon’s attention.

“_Uno_.” He kept his voice low and calm.

Faith danced around, avoiding the goo on the ground as well as the grabby claws of the pissed and wounded monster. “_Dos_,” she said with a quick nod.

He let her work. Provoking and distracting the fucker from remembering Dean was still aiming a gun its direction. She landed a few piercing stabs, but it wasn’t doing much to slow it down.

“_Tres_!” He shouted just after he turned his eyes directly to the monster’s ugly head. He saw Faith tuck and roll off to the side as he pumped every remaining bullet in his clip through the chamber. He saw he’d destroyed half the creature’s face before he lowered his eyes to Faith jumping up off the ground.

Well, he was pretty sure he was the monster’s new target. Backing up quickly, he heard the creepy growl that signified more evil vomit. Stumbling as he ran backward, he saw the stream of goo flying his direction. It landed ahead of him, but he was only millimeters away from getting caught in the splash zone.

Panic was disorienting him as he tried to run away from the demon charging him. He heard Faith release a growl of her own and tripped over his feet as he tried to look up, but avoid the demon’s face.

He lost the ability to think as he tumbled to the ground. He was paralyzed with shock, awe and gut-wrenching fear as he watched Faith leap in the air and come crashing down on the monster’s back. Both demon and woman cried out as she wrapped herself around it and plunge her knife into its neck.

The monster howled in pain, thrashing about in a vain attempt to stop her. She sawed away with a primal roar of determination, not slowing down as she swung about on the demon’s back.

It took longer than he expected. Granted, the knife she was wielding was much too small for the job. How she avoided its mouth or the final spew of poison vomit, he didn’t know. What he did know was that as she crawled up to her feet after the monster’s ugly head was severed from its equally ugly body, she was completely covered in blood and bits of tissue.

And she was officially the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

“Good job,” he said lamely, unwilling to express how amazing he found her in the moment.

Gasping for air, she first looked to the bloody knife in her hands before beginning to give herself a long once over. Finally, she looked up at him. Her eyes were filled with emotions—pride, disbelief, anger and excitement—as she gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You’re in a suit.”

Blinking in confusion, he looked down at himself. Since he’d just come from checking out the victim and questioning the local cops, he’d been wearing him FBI costume. “Yeah?”

“Is that why you didn’t help?”

Fuck that. “What? Do you not remember who shot the fucking thing?”

“Look at you, then look at me, Ducky. Who the fuck killed this thing?”

“Thanks to me! You were never gonna get its head off with that knife alone. You couldn’t even look at his head without me distracting him.”

“Maybe not, but I could slip him and take him with an ax pretty damn easy. I certainly didn’t need you sneaking around all Secret Service protecting me. I got by a long ass time slaying shit without needing a fucking babysitter following me around.”

“Wait.” He held up the empty gun in his hand. “I’m not babysitting you, you fucking stalker! I took this case to get away from _you!_”

“Bullshit.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha driving? Because when Baby and I pulled out, all the cars were in the garage except Dawn’s.”

He barked a laugh when he saw her eyes darken with bitter defeat. He’d beat her to it. She was following him.

“Well, I was only late because I was too busy moving my shit out of your room. Seems I was wanting to get the fuck away from your clingy ass, too.”

“Clingy?” He scoffed. “I left _you._”

“Doesn’t count if I left you before I knew you were leaving me.”

“I got here first!” he bellowed. “This case is mine, so go away!”

“Dude, I’m the one with blood on my hands. In the literal. So back the fuck up and let the professional handle this one. I’m sure there’s a ghost out there you can manage by yourself. Casper is sometimes friendly. Maybe you can find a new fuck buddy.”

He’d seen the victim at the morgue. It hadn’t resembled anything like the tortured body lying in the alley. There was something else here. Another monster Faith likely didn’t know about. “Yeah, well, fine,” Dean answered. “This case looks pretty closed anyway. I’ll head west and you can head east. That way you can’t claim to accidentally stalk me next time.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “No worries, Winchester. You go on. I’ll clean up the mess.”

Turning around and walking back to the street, he snickered to himself. He’d finish the case and get to avoid disposing of demon vomit. Oh, Karma was a beautiful thing.


	20. Chapter 20

“I wanna fuck you.”

Faith fought to keep her grin in place. _No shit, Sherlock_. Ever since she’d entered the club—which was appropriately named Rising Dawn—the dhampir had been all up in her business. And that was just the way she’d planned it.

The few hours since leaving the alleyway with the Kraelek carcass and his mud-puddle victim had been the right kind of thrilling. Even back in LA, when she and Hunter had picked up the slack at Wright and Pryce Investigations, she’d always been the muscle rather than the private dick. Investigating and detecting were tasks left to Wright, Wes, Cordy, and Gunn—which, at the time, had suited her just fine because she’d had her hands full in slayer-training. Plus keeping an eye on the kid to make sure she didn’t get in over her head. Whenever there was a big baddie to cut down to size, though, she’d been all to happy to hit the streets with her ax. Or whatever weapon happened to be the most appropriate.

But after Dean had stalked away, all pristine and clean in his costume, Faith had remembered what Spike had said about the Kraelek—that it, like her, was typically the muscle. Which meant the fucker that had hired the beast was still out and about, and might have more than one snot monster to contend with. The only piece of evidence she’d had to go off was the melted goo that was the Kraelek’s victim. True, the vic had been more silly putty than skin and bones by that point, but the head and chest had taken the majority of the damage. The legs—and more specifically—the pockets had been more or less intact. Inside had been a wallet with a license, a few credit cards, some spare cash, and a business card for one Reese Bellsworth, owner and proprietor of Rising Dawn.

Since she was short on cash—having bummed a couple hundred dollars from B before she’d hit the road—she’d done the morally ambiguous thing and stuffed the dead dude’s paper currency in her pocket. It was hardly the worst thing she’d ever done, and it wasn’t like this guy would need the money anyway, but taking it had bothered Faith more than she would have thought. But if she was to find out why the guy had died, she needed some do-re-mi, and being that she was pretty sure she and Dean were officially no longer a thing, stealing his cash would probably be considered less cute and more hostile.

The fucker had hit the road to get away from _her_. Like he hadn’t had the time of his fucking life over the past couple of days. And why the fuck did she care, anyway? She’d made the decision, after losing her shit all over him, that their unspoken arrangement had run its course and she needed to pull the plug in a big ole way.

The reason? She liked the guy more than she should. He called her on her shit, fought back when she pushed, and when she’d gone all weepy woman on him, he hadn’t run for the hills or blown smoke up her ass. He was fun to look at, more fun to ride, and he didn’t treat her like broken glass. Or like he was using her whenever they fucked—substituting her for someone he really wanted or trying to escape his shit life for a little while.

In other words, he wasn’t broken like the men she tended to gravitate toward—or if he was, it was a different kind of broken. _Her _kind of broken, which…hell, she’d never encountered before. When he was with her, he was with _her._ She’d thought she and Wes might have had something like that once, but goddamn, what an idiot she’d been. Colossal fucking idiot. Not doing that again and not only because she’d ended up a freaking firework.

The fact that she’d missed the mark so badly with Wes had hurt for a number of reasons—reasons she didn’t really wanna dwell on but couldn’t help. Because once you got past the bracelet shit, the willingness to mortgage your best friend’s daughter as a gambling chip—even if you thought it was for the _greater fucking good_—and use your dead fiancée as your cover story, there was still the fact that on a personal level, Faith had felt a thing she’d known was stupid but had felt anyway. Had _pursued _anyway, despite a whole host of reasons not to. And just when she’d thought she might be ready to take a leap, the guy she’d decided to leap for had essentially… Well, he hadn’t broken her heart because she hadn’t been in love with him, but he’d broken the part of her that had believed, however briefly, that girls like Faith Lehane could ever catch a break. That she’d ever have that bone-deep trust that B had with her blond stud or Wright with Cordy. That connecting with someone on a level beyond the physical was something she would ever experience, and damn if that didn’t make her feel lonely as fuck. That she lived in a world full of vamps, demons, shifters, and apocalypses, but trust was the thing that didn’t exist. At least for her.

The thing was, whatever she’d felt for Wes had started with a genuine desire to hang around him. Make him laugh. Argue over stupid shit, talk about stuff that mattered—be the person he needed and not some fill-in for someone else.

There was no fucking reason to feel that way about Dean, a guy she’d known for going on fifty-some odd hours, just because he seemed to actually give a shit. But he _couldn’t_ give a shit because who the fuck was she to him? Some chick who’d randomly appeared in his fucking car, who happened to screw his brains out, but that was that. And the fact that he’d hauled ass out of town just to get away from her drove the point home like nothing else could. So yeah, good to move on. Focus on things that mattered. Like killing shit.

Well, she supposed that was how she’d gotten here. First to the motel, where she’d staggered in covered in dried blood, dirt, grease, and with bits of demon guts in her hair.

She’d tried to ignore the fact that a familiar Impala had been parked at the same motel, though something in her had told her to pack up and find somewhere else in a big hurry. One glance at her reflection in a nearby window, though, had convinced her that A) she wasn’t going to let anyone, especially Dean Winchester, dictate where she could and couldn’t go and B) she’d be fucking fortunate to find another motel where the staff didn’t give a shit about a woman who looked like a horror movie reject. She’d marched on to take a shower—lukewarm because that was the kind of place this was, then headed out again.

Faith had never been a research junkie, but she knew her way around Google. She’d hit a local library to look up this Rising Dawn place and Reese Bellsworth, the vampy-looking motherfucker who owned it. Reese had previously been an owner of Vein, another club in town, but from the admittedly amateur sleuthing she’d done, he’d had a nasty falling out with his partner, Victoria Swan, and had set out to launch his own place.

The second she’d stepped into the place and caught a glimpse of Reese in the flesh, her slayer senses had started blaring warning bells. Not a vampire, but one of those ugly hybrids that were a bitch to kill. A dhampir. And a dhampir that had bee-lined to her in a big ole way because, even if he wasn’t a full-fledged vamp, he could smell her superior blood from across the room. He’d whispered something in her ear, then taken her onto the dance floor where they’d been for the past half hour or so.

Right now, the plan was to get him alone so she could ask about the Kraelek. But she knew what happened when girls looked too eager, even if the guy was there for it. The longer she drew it out, the thirstier he’d be for her, and hopefully he’d be too fucking horny and hungry to watch what he said. Dhampirs might not be as easily led by the fangs as their vampire cousins, but if worked up enough, they could get just as desperate—therefore careless.

Reese was a ballsy, not to mention handsy, motherfucker. He’d started slow enough, grabbing her hips from behind to pull her back against his chest as he rocked his pelvis against her ass. It hadn’t taken him long to feel bold enough to let her feel his erection, and when she hadn’t shied away from him, he’d moved his hands from her hips to caress the underside of her breasts. Faith and squirmed a bit to show she wasn’t that easy and he’d backed off…for a few minutes. They’d continued this back forth until she made a sound like she was caving, but by that time he wasn’t interested in just the undersides. Right there on the dance floor, he cupped her breasts and pulled at her nipples through the admittedly thin tank top she’d slid on after her shower—one of the ones Rosalie had returned to her.

And that was how Dean had seen her when he showed up, which of course he had, because her life was a fucking laugh-riot these days. He’d stumbled in, no longer in his FBI Halloween costume, and zeroed in on her and Reese like he’d been looking for her. Which of course he hadn’t—the shock, irritation, then outright fury on his face had transmitted that loud and clear. Faith had rolled her eyes and looked away, then, just to be ornery, taken one of Reese’s hands off her breasts and slid it down her belly until it was at the clasp of her leather pants. She hadn’t been looking at Dean directly at the time, but she’d heard him stomp his way to the bar.

“Did you hear me?” Reese rasped into her ear, sliding his hand beneath the waistline of her pants far enough that he fingered through the curls at her mound. “I wanna fuck you. _Now_.”

“Right here?” she replied, keeping her voice low and husky.

“Follow me to my office.”

“Your office?” she echoed in her best _oh, you work here? _tone.

“I’m the owner.” He nipped at her earlobe hard enough to draw blood. Then he moaned and sucked it between his teeth. “Fuuuuuck, you taste amazing. Come on. We’re doing this now.”

The hand down her pants abruptly pulled back, seized her by the waist, and began hauling her toward the back. Faith managed to kill her smirk—she needed to remain in character—but _didn’t _manage to avoid meeting Dean’s eyes. The look he sent her was hard to read—something like disgust or disappointment or anger, or maybe all three. She didn’t know. But she didn’t let herself linger on it.

Reese was about to find out just why her blood tasted so good, and she was going to get some answers about the demon who left people puddles wherever it went.

*~*~*

The meeting could have gone better.

A lot better.

Okay, it had basically been a shit-show.

Sabrina had known her solution to the problem of Willow Rosenberg would be met with resistance. Of course it would be. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger-Weasley had withheld valuable information for a reason, and being confronted with that fact was never going to be pleasant. Still, she’d been at least somewhat mollified at Wright and Mr. Giles’s reaction to this news because, dammit, the Golden Trio—a name that had been born from NoMaj _Harry Potter _fans that MACUSA had all-too-gleefully adopted when internally discussing Potter, Granger-Weasley, and Weasley—couldn’t be trusted. No one from the Ministry of Magic could be trusted when it came to Willow Rosenberg.

The past few weeks had been enlightening for Sabrina in a number of ways. And she could appreciate that these people had a soft spot for Willow—that what Willow herself had gone through had been traumatic in ways Sabrina could never fully appreciate. But when it came down to the life of one unstable witch and the lives of millions along the west coast—and perhaps the country itself—the choice was clear. Willow had to be put down.

The Caritas meeting had left them essentially nowhere, and time had run out before they could discuss further. After all, the karaoke bar had been issued to them on loan, so the hour they’d been allotted hadn’t done much. Except now, though they didn’t trust each other for shit, they had agreed, tentatively, to pack up and meet again at the Hyperion with the understanding that Sabrina would surrender her wand upon walking inside and no one would point anything lethal at her head. That meeting was still to come; Hermione would be in touch when they had a firm time.

But Sabrina wasn’t about to sit back and wait for them to decide they wanted to talk. Time wasted was time Willow was potentially gathering power and resources to finish what she’d started in Europe.

If the LA monster hunters weren’t going to assist her, she’d have to look elsewhere.

Sam Seaborn, like the rest of the NoMajes at the Hyperion, had walked away from the hotel with his memories intact. And while he was the father to Willow’s child, she remained absent from his life. Sabrina wasn’t sure if this was due to the fact that he’d learned the truth and had made the sensible decision to cut her out of his life or if Willow had done the cutting. If Sam were a smart man, he’d be afraid of the danger Willow posed to his constituents, not to mention his friends and family, and be working on ways to neutralize the threat. But given that the woman was also the mother of his child, Sabrina couldn’t bank on Sam being smart about anything.

Thankfully, there were other options. Though Josh Lyman had cut ties with Wolfram and Hart shortly before Governor Seaborn had announced he’d fathered a child out of wedlock, he’d remained in the area and, conveniently enough, was staying at the governor’s mansion.

After leaving Caritas, Sabrina returned to MACUSA and filed a request to access one of the regularly scheduled Sacramento Portkeys for the purpose of reconnaissance on the governor. By use of Polyjuice Potion, so she could see what he was telling people in his inner circle. Toadmore had been delighted by her ingenuity and insisted she go at once. Sabrina might be new to this whole double-agent thing, but she’d learned enough by watching others that sticking as close to the truth as possible would be how she stayed alive. As it was, the only hard part of her plan had been luring the now visibly pregnant Donna Moss outside of the governor’s mansion and summoning the courage to put the woman under the Imperius Curse—something Sabrina had never thought she’d do to anyone, but she needed the real Donna to not bust in at an inopportune moment, and she was too nervous about potentially harming the woman’s baby to try a spell or curse that was less Unforgivable.

Sabrina, once she had assumed Donna’s identity, sent Donna to window shop for baby supplies, then entered the home and eventually found her way to Josh Lyman.

Or rather, he found his way to her.

“I know pregnancy brain’s a thing,” Josh said, rounding the corner to the living room, “but you went off to find potato chips like a half hour ago.”

Sabrina went rigid. “Joshua Lyman.”

He blinked at her a bit stupidly before what she assumed was supposed to be a sexy smirk crossed his lips. “Donnatella Moss,” he replied, taking a step forward.

Sabrina recovered the step in the other direction. “You should know I am not Donna Moss.”

“Oh. Who are we today, then? Maybe an abstinence-only country girl who found herself in the family way and has nowhere else to go except her very understanding pastor?” He clasped his hands as though in prayer. “All sins can be forgiven, my dear, if you allow the power of Christ to come into you.”

What the hell did that mean? Wait, no, she knew what it meant—it meant these people had depraved sex practices. Sabrina wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, I mean my name is Sabrina Deanne. I am from the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Donna Moss is currently out shopping for baby supplies. I needed to speak with you and this was the best way.”

A myriad of emotion clouded Josh’s face then—horror, embarrassment, disgust and outrage all had their part. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“I am here about Willow Rosenberg.”

At this, Josh’s eyes went wide. “No. No, no, no, no. I am not getting involved with this again. Willow is out of Sam’s life and—”

“And she just cast a spell on herself and everyone affected by the memory spell she conducted ten years ago to reclaim those memories, which means that, wherever she is, she is probably in a very volatile state.” Sabrina planted her hands on her hips, which made her gut clench. This was the first and last time she would assume the role of a pregnant woman while imbibing Polyjuice Potion. “MACUSA doesn’t know yet, but it is only a matter of time before she makes a move that elevates her to the top of the threat list. And when that happens, they will mount an offense to take her out.”

Josh just gaped at her, the color having drained from his face. He looked at once like he might be sick. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I gotta tell Sam. This is—”

“That is the least of our concerns. Whatever they throw at Willow will fail. She is too powerful.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“Because throwing all of their firepower at Willow puts everyone in danger. Especially when she fires back.” Sabrina released a long breath. “I have approached Willow’s friends in Los Angeles, including Harry Potter. They refuse to see reason. Mr. Lyman, I am here because you were brave enough before to do what was necessary, no matter the cost. I don’t want a repeat of what happened in England on American soil, and I know you don’t, either. Our only option is to find Willow before MACUSA realizes what has happened and kill her ourselves. I need you to help me convince those who know her that this is the way to save the world.”

*~*~*

The second Reese closed the door behind her—which took some doing, considering he was sucking on her neck just hard enough to hurt—Faith flattened her palms against his chest and shoved. The big dhampir stumbled back until he hit the desk that sat in the middle of the office, his black eyes shining and his open mouth revealing his shiny set of fangs.

Dhampirs were a bit of a bitch to kill and, in Faith’s experience, not all deserving of the fate. Unlike vampires, they kept their souls and most tried to blend in with the world at large. Some did the nest thing—strength in numbers—and others just tried to get by in polite society. There weren’t many of them, because creating a dhampir was difficult. The first she’d known about had come from a freak accident in which a vampire had gotten a witch pregnant. The witch had done some kind of spell on herself to revitalize the vampire’s sperm and lo and behold, a half-vamp, half-human had been born. All of the perks of being a vamp and none of the weaknesses. Made for one bitching army, which legend had it was what the witch had been after.

The guy standing across from her now, panting like oxygen was going out of style, definitely had the undead allure going for him. He was broad-shouldered with long black hair, a strong jaw, come-hither eyes, and a GQ smile. He’d also dressed the part of a vampire club owner, his black silk shirt somewhat untucked from his black jeans, the first few buttons undone. And he was sporting massive wood in the crotch region.

The look in his eyes told her that this particular dhampir was not a guy used to hearing the word _no_. That didn’t necessarily mean he was responsible for the Kraelek but it did mean she might have to seriously kick his ass.

“Oh, so now you wish to play hard to get?” Reese drawled and ran his tongue down a fang. “Your blood is…the best I have ever tasted. Care to tell me your secret?”

“Care to tell me why I found your business card in Howard Bolton’s wallet?”

The dhampir clearly had not expected this. “Howard is…dead?”

“Super dead. Melted into a little puddle of Howard dead.” Faith tilted her head. “Kraelek demons are big with the messes. Guessin’ Howie was a friend of yours?”

“He was my accountant…” Reese gripped the edges of his desk, a range of emotions playing across his face. Shock, disbelief, then finally rage. “That fucking bitch. She knew I was taking him with me and she brings in a _Kraelek_?”

“She being Victoria?”

He whipped his head up, snarling. “You know Vickie?”

“No. All I know is there’s a dead puddle of gross a few blocks from here and he had your name in his wallet. So what can you tell me?”

For a moment, she thought he might actually help her out. It was clear that whatever bad blood was between him and Victoria Swan had them at each other’s throats. Could be that Reese was a decent guy.

But when he looked up and she saw his eyes, any hope of that being the case died a quick death.

“I will handle Vickie,” he said, pushing back to his feet and taking a step toward her. “But at the moment I am more interested in handling you. And that pretty neck of yours.”

“Sorry. Not really into the whole chew toy fetish.”

“I don’t recall giving you a choice, sweet thing.” The next second, Reese was against her and her feet were off the floor, her back to the wall and his hand at her throat. He pressed in close, inhaling deeply near the place he’d knicked her earlobe. “I dunno what you are but I’m going to fuck you raw, then drink you dry, and I’m gonna enjoy every fucking minute.” This he punctuated by dropping his other hand to her pelvis so he could rub her pussy through her clothes.

Great. This guy was a rapist and a murderer. And probably still not the ringleader.

“No,” Faith choked around his grip. “You’re really, really not.”

“Oh, I like you. Might have to keep you around a while.”

Faith clawed at his hand, which only made him grin wider. And left him totally unprepared for the kick she slammed between his legs. A second later, he yowled and dropped her, but she was there and ready. She twirled and landed a roundhouse kick to the chest, and this time he went flying over the desk, papers scattering, various office instruments hitting the ground. But he’d recover fast, so she had no time to stop. Instead, she ripped her trusty blade free from where she’d had it strapped to her ankle and was ready when he reached up to pull himself to his feet. The second his hand appeared on the desk’s surface, she plunged the business end through the back of it, pinning him in place.

“Fuuuuuck!” he screamed, not remotely handsome anymore.

“You’re not my type,” Faith replied, leaping onto the desk and smashing her boot down on his face with such force he went flying into the waiting office chair behind him, which careened into the back wall. The action had the knife in his hand ripping through bone and tendon as the appendage tore free with the force of the blow. He screamed again, but the music outside hit a timely crescendo, which likely kept the sound contained to the room. Faith squatted to pluck her blade without taking her gaze off the dhampir. When he finally tore his eyes from the mangled remains of his hand, he hissed at her, one-hundred-percent monster.

“I am going to eat you alive, little girl,” he snapped.

“Fun as that sounds, it’s gonna be kinda hard to do that without a head.”

Faith leapt at him, landing in his lap with her blade pressed against his throat.

“Gonna have to do better than that,” he said before lunging for her neck.

Which was stupid because the forward motion had the teeth of her blade cutting into his throat. She guessed he’d expected her to flinch or draw back at the attack, or for her arms to not have the strength to hold him at bay, which proved he was a slow learner, much like her ducky. Faith gritted through and pushed back, enjoying the shock and surprise that filled Reese’s eyes when he realized what he’d done—and moreover, what she was doing.

“Wait—” he gasped, but it was too late. She pushed forward until her blade met the back of the chair, and his head rolled to the floor with a squishy plop.

Faith sat there for a second, breathing hard, trying to collect her bearings. Two decapitations in one day. Both with the blade Rosalie had given back to her. And damn fucking fortunate thing she had. There was a reason this weapon was her favorite.

She raised the blade to eye-level. “Forget diamonds. You are a girl’s best friend.”

It was probably dangerous, killing the boss and then hitting the bar in his club, but dammit, Faith needed a drink.

And honestly, with the day she’d had, heaven help the fucker who tried to take her out next. She was on a goddamned roll.

*~*~*

Honestly, Wright didn’t know how to feel now, except exhausted, bone-weary, and pissed off. He’d expected some of the shock and anger to have worn off after they left Caritas and returned to the Hyperion to discuss matters, but instead, it had gotten stronger.

Now everyone was in the lobby again, save for Kelly, who had volunteered to watch the kids while Wright and everyone else brought Cordelia, Gunn, and Mary up to speed. The resulting argument had been going on ever since.

“This is why you’re never supposed to meet your heroes,” Cordelia said wisely, glowering at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

“For the millionth time, it wasn’t like what that woman said it was,” Harry said. “Willow is our friend. We love her. We’re here because we love her.” He released a long breath. “Yes…there are things we didn’t tell you.”

“Like the fact that you were there from the bloody start,” Giles snapped. All of signs of his fan-worship had died with the revelation that famous Harry Potter had withheld information.

“We couldn’t tell you that.” Harry shook his head, looked to Hermione for help. “We were learning about Willow alongside the lot of you when that happened. We had no idea what she was at the time—that Muggles could even have powers was beyond us. Then she conducted that bloody spell and was all right again—the threat was over. We couldn’t take her to Azkaban because who knew if it’d have any effect on her? The Ministry and McGonagall came to an agreement.”

“I still don’t get this,” Gunn drawled from where he was reclined against the check-in counter. “This chick nearly destroys your country and you respond by giving her a job.”

“We needed to understand her,” Hermione replied. “She was a very powerful witch, but, as it became completely clear, a good person. The Ministry wanted to lock her up but we had no means of doing so and we”—she indicated herself, Ron, and Harry—“refused to help them do that.”

“And they just listened to you?” Giles said.

“When you’re the Boy Who Lived, yes, they listen to you,” Harry shot back. “When you defeat Lord Voldemort, yes, they listen to you. When you’re the head of the Auror Office, yes, they listen to you. Willow had removed all memory of her actions _from herself_, which to us indicated she regretted them. We didn’t know how powerful she was so attempting to apprehend her seemed like a good way to get people killed. I assumed responsibility.” He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his messy black hair. “McGonagall agreed to keep watch of her at Hogwarts—a controlled environment that was well prepared for magical carnage.”

“Around kids,” Cordelia muttered.

“It wasn’t perfect, but we were dealing with something we’d never seen before,” Harry all but shouted at her. “Our world had just barely begun to recover from what we went through with Voldemort and he at least had been a known enemy. Willow Rosenberg presented a completely different type of threat. So yes, we watched her—Hermione, Ron, and me. We visited McGonagall often. And then something none of us expected happened—we became friends with her. We _love _her. That’s why we hauled arse across the stupid ocean to follow her here.”

“And you knew she’d gone bad briefly last year,” Zack said. “When she was on her way here to put my soul back in and Wolfram and Hart put up that invisible wall.”

“Yeah, mate, that scared us,” Ron agreed. “But she overcame it, didn’t she? Got through it. All on her own, mind. None of us were here to talk her down—she did that on her own.”

“But that’s still the reason you came,” Cordelia said.

“It was _a _reason,” Harry said. “Not the reason. _The _reason was because we were invited by American schools to guest-lecture. Then we got over here and you know what happened.” He glanced at Hermione. “It wasn’t until we arrived in Los Angeles and Wolfram and Hart got involved, got MACUSA involved, that any of this came up. Until our bloody Ministry decided to give her the boot. We’ve been with her for years and she’s never exhibited any sort of bad magic, which is why Hermione got the go-ahead from McGonagall to tell her the truth. We all believed she could handle it.”

“How bloody careless,” Giles said softly.

Mary reached out and stroked his arm. “Rupert…”

“This is quite easy for the lot of you, isn’t it? Watching from the sidelines, making calls after the fact. Never mind that Willow’s fragile state might have been better handled by the people who knew her. Who were there with her from the start.”

“We couldn’t take that chance, old man,” Ginny spat. “Voldemort nearly tore our world apart. We weren’t about to let that happen again.”

“So instead of trusting those people who might understand Willow and others like her better than you, you decided to play god and keep us all in the dark.” Giles shook his head, now almost vibrating with rage. “You let us continue to believe her lie rather than bring us, the people who know her best, into the fold. And you lied to _her_. How do you think Willow will react to learning that her very close friends, people she trusts, are only in her life to study her like she is some bloody lab experiment?”

“Please, Mr. Giles,” Hermione said, her eyes swimming with tears. “Harry wasn’t lying—we do love Willow. She’s become one of us, part of our family. However it is she got there, that much is the truth.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure she’ll understand. You knew this about her, about all of us, and kept bloody mum. If anything goes wrong now, it’s on you. All four of you and your whole bloody government.” Giles glanced to Mary, then to Wright and Zack. “We have to find her before that Sabrina girl does. Or before these four decide to make another unanimous decision for _our own good_.”

“That’s not fair—” Harry began to protest.

“Oh, stuff it, Harry Potter,” Giles snapped. “The four of you have buggered this up quite nicely. And, even though it is not my place to say, I believe it is time you take your magical arses and get the hell out of this hotel.”

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione all looked to Wright, who glared at them stonily.

“Well,” Cordelia practically shouted, waving at them, “you heard the man. Get the fuck out of my hotel.”

*~*~*

Today just kept getting better and better.

Well, at the moment, at least, it was looking up. Or it should have been looking up, considering Dean had his tongue down the throat of some hot little blonde and he knew Faith had seen them, namely because he’d positioned himself in a place to be seen. It had taken a moment longer than he would have liked for her to notice—she’d been in a bit of a daze after her fuckfest with Reese Bellsworth. Hair a mess, which wasn’t surprising given the crashing sounds that had come from the back, and a few bruises on her pale arms—also not surprising given the guy was a fucking vamp. Or whatever the hell the vamps Dean had spent years killing actually were, in the world according to Cas and the Slayers.

He’d known Faith didn’t discriminate much when it came to bedmates, but fuck, the thought of her with that fang banger had him…pissed. And pissed that he was pissed. And more pissed that she was still in this fucking town, that she’d ignored their earlier agreement to leave—even if he’d never intended to leave, himself. That, at least, hadn’t been a surprise. Not after spying Spike’s car in the motel parking lot. One phone call to Buffy had confirmed the yellow Olds was currently being driven by Faith Lehane, and wasn’t that swell. She was on a case like one of the team.

So when Dean had walked in, following a lead he’d picked up from the morgue, and seen Faith, that hadn’t been a surprise. What had been a surprise? Seeing her getting all felt up by a fucking vamp in full view of everyone. If the girl was staying with them, and it looked like she was, he’d known she’d eventually move on and let other guys between her legs, but call him stupid, but he hadn’t been ready to see it tonight.

Like that.

He’d hung around because he needed to talk to Bellsworth, get his side of things and figure out how the snot monster from earlier figured into any of this, if it did at all. But Faith had walk-of-shamed her way out of the fucker’s office more than fifteen minutes ago and here he was like a fucking buffoon, staring at her as the twig of a thing he’d decided to kill time with started to stick her hand down his pants.

Dean started and pulled back. “Whoa there, darlin’. Whatcha doin’?”

The little thing smiled all prettily up at him. Demure and sweet in a way that should totally do it for him but didn’t. His dick hadn’t stirred much at all—something he’d have to worry about later. Right now he’d blame it on the fact that his attention was split between the case and whatever the fuck had happened with Faith and the vamp.

“I thought I’d suck on it like a lollipop,” the girl said, popping the ‘p’. “See if we could have some fun.”

Dean stared at her for a full ten seconds, willing his brain to jump in and do something. Then he glanced up to where Faith had been sitting. She wasn’t there.

“What do you say?” The blonde reached into his pants and wrapped her hand around his cock, which had begun to stir—knowing the motions if not the player. Then she leaned in and whispered, “I can tie cherry stems with my tongue, you know.”

“Now that there’s a nifty trick.”

Dean whipped his head to the left, not sure whether to be relieved, elated, or annoyed when he saw Faith standing not two feet away.

His dick, which was apparently already trained to respond to her proximity in any context, went from half-mast to full in half a blink.

“I gotta question, though.” Faith grinned and leaned toward the blonde. “Can you still do that if I rip that tongue out? ‘Cause that—_that _would be a skill worth putting on a resume.”

The blonde blinked. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, have we not been introduced? My name is _fuck off_. Why don’t you toddle on off so the grownups can talk?”

The blonde stared at her for a moment, then turned her eyes back to Dean, who just nodded at her, lacking the ability to do anything else.

“Uh, fine.” The blonde rolled her eyes and brought her hands up, which unfortunately left Dean’s junk hanging out. He rushed to correct it. “Your loss,” she told him before she sashayed away.

Faith watched her go with an arched eyebrow, giving Dean the time to decide this was not cool. Just not cool at all.

In fact, this had gotten a step past _not cool _and was firmly in _what the fuck _territory.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped when she shook her head and turned back to him.

Faith had the audacity to stare at him like _he’d _done something wrong. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are twelve year-olds your thing? That girl had _statutory _written all over her.”

“Who I fuck is none of your business.”

Just like whoever she fucked was none of his. Even if it was a fucking vamp less than twelve fucking hours since he’d been inside her. Because Dean Winchester did not give a shit.

Faith brought her hands up. “Whatever,” she muttered, and turned to walk away.

“No, _no. _Not fucking _whatever_.” Dean grabbed her wrist and jerked her back to him. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to screw whatever the fuck you feel like and then go all jealous girlfriend on me when—”

“Excuse me, _what_?”

“Well, that’s what this is, ain’t it?”

“Get the fuck right over yourself,” Faith snapped, but her tone was harsher than before—harsher than he’d heard, actually. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was on the defensive. Which meant he was _right_.

“Just callin’ it like I see it, sweetheart,” he replied, something ugly and unrestrained burning in his chest—something that had been there since he’d walked in and caught the vamp feeling her up. Something just itching to explode. “Statutory, really? Did you _see _the ass on that girl?”

“Did _you_? ‘Cause ever since I came back out, you’ve been over here glaring at _me_.”

“Something you’d only know if you were watching me like some jealous stalker chick. Weren’t you supposed to get out of town?”

“Yeah, well, plans change. I decided to follow a lead.”

“Yeah. Follow or fuck? ‘Cause from where I’m sittin’, that seems to be your signature move.”

Faith stared at him for a long moment, long enough that the part of him that remembered just how strong she was—just how easily she could flatten him—gave off a little warning. But the look on her face was something beyond anger, though anger was there, no doubt. Hell, if he didn’t know better, he’d think he might have actually wounded her with that barb.

Fuck, had he? The thought made his chest hurt.

“You’re right,” she said at last, her voice somewhat detached. “Gotta do what you’re good at, right?” She took a step back, shaking her head. “Good news? I softened him up nice for you. Your witness, Ducky. I’m out.”

And before he could understand what had just happened, Faith turned and headed toward the door, looking small and somewhat defeated, which made something inside of him scream. Dean wasn’t a stranger to hating himself, but this felt different. After a long moment, during which he listened to the pounding in his chest and tried to keep from replaying what had just happened, he shoved himself off the wall and stumbled back toward the office.

_Focus on the case. Whatever that was can wait_.

That thought died when he pushed open the office door and took a look at the wreckage inside.

“Fuck.”


	21. Chapter 21

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, doing his best to try and remain calm. “The bitch said _what_?”

Yeah, he failed to keep from losing his cool.

“I know,” Josh said shaking his head. “Seriously, I couldn’t believe that she’d come to me after everything that had happened. I may have made some mistakes, Sam, but I would never betray you or Donna again. It was one thing trying to keep you and Willow apart.” He held up a hand when Sam’s flew his eyes open to aim a nasty glare his direction. “And I was wrong! That’s already been settled!”

“She wants…” Sam was grateful he didn’t have Willow or Oz’s magical abilities. He honestly thought he could shatter glass with the anger vibrating through him. “To. Kill. Willow.”

“I thought it was as bad as you! That’s why I called you here as soon as she left.”

Sam sighed in exasperation, running a shaky hand through his hair. “And did you tell her to go fuck herself?”

“I told her I’d think about it.”

“Josh,” he growled, taking a step forward to possibly strangle the man.

“I’m not thinking about _it_, you dumbass. I said that to buy us time. Time for you to get a hold of Willow and warn her that this Sabrina witch is trying to get to her. She said something about a spell and something about memories that if MACUSA found out, there’ll be a full scale magical war to apprehend her.”

_Oh god. _He wished he didn’t understand what that meant, but he did. He really, really did. He pulled out his phone.

“You calling her?”

“No,” Sam said softly, scrolling through his contacts. “Willow is… She’s very upset right now. With me. With herself. With the world. She’s looking for something to blame and I’m afraid she might kill this dumb witch bitch before she has time to control herself.”

“Really?” Josh asked. “You think she could murder?”

“I think I’d kill this woman myself if I had the power right now, Josh,” he admitted before calling the only person he could think of to help.

“Hello?”

“Hermione, I think you and Harry need to come to Sacramento. Now.”

*~*~*

Dean had bailed Rising Dawn after discovering Reese decapitated in the back. Pissed and full of emotions, he stopped at the closest convenience store for beer and a burger. He left with a fifth of American Honey.

Sitting in his car, he kept taking a shot every time he glanced at the fucking yellow Olds. Fucking bitch not only fucked the son of a bitch, but had killed him before Dean could question him. Now he had no idea if the case was closed or if Reese had known about the pus-spewing Kraken—or whatever Sam had told him about after he’d called for research help.

And that shit in the bar—the whole jealousy act—who was she trying to fool? She’d just come from fucking and fucking over that vamp. Did she really think he thought she gave two shits about him? Bitch hadn’t known him half a week. Three days, three dicks.

Yeah, this was bullshit. Dean Winchester didn’t play games. No, this bitch needed to get out of his case and out of his bunker. She could take her pogo stick pussy back to LA.

He looked down at the bottle clenched in his hands. He’d already drank half. Time to give Faith Lehane a piece of his mind.

Twenty bucks later he had her room number and was pounding on her door.

Her hair was damp and flowing down her shoulders. She’d changed into a tank top and sweats. “What, Winchester?” she snapped.

“Fuck you!”

She blinked at him. “That’s it? Okay, goodnight.”

He slammed his hand against the door when she went to shut it. “That’s not _it_. Fuck you for pulling that shit with me at the bar. Fuck you for pretending you were jealous because I was playing with a different girl. Fuck you for fucking that motherfucker after you saw me walk in and a giant _fuck you_ for killing my lead!”

She didn’t react for a moment, just stared at him with an unreadable expression. “Pretty much everything you said was bullshit, just so you know.”

He barked a humorless laugh in her face before taking another shot from the bottle.

“I didn’t fuck him,” she said in a small voice, turning to shut the door after he pushed his way inside. “Yeah, I played it up to get him alone. Let him get more handsy than I liked.”

“Really?” He wasn’t buying it.

“I didn’t want his hand down my pants,” she snapped. “Unlike you and that blonde bimbo.”

“Don’t you start in with your fucking mind games, Faith. Get back to lying about fucking the fang banger.”

“I started questioning him and he started trying to rape me. Happy?”

That wasn’t a turn he’d expected. “What?”

“That’s right, Ducky. He let slip a little intel about who was behind the Kraelek demon—his ex-partner, FYI—because after he raped me, he planned to kill me.”

Blind rage consumed him. No way would he let some son of a bitch hurt her and get away with it. “Grab your keys,” he growled.

“What?”

“Grab your keys! I can’t drive.” He held up the bottle. “I’m gonna go fucking murder that motherfucker for trying to hurt you!”

She smiled at him. She fucking smiled. It wasn’t a smirk or a gesture after one of her jabs or jokes. “Ducky, I kinda already took care of that part.”

“Oh.” Yeah, he remembered the headless fucker now. “Well, good for you, girlfriend. ’Cause no means no. Hashtag me too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hashtag you’re drunk.”

“Well…doesn’t change the fact you lied.”

She held up her hands. “What the hell? I just told you the truth!”

“Look, honey, I don’t do relationships for this exact reason. I don’t play fucking games and I don’t like being used as some toy for mind-fuck amusement.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes filled with anger.

“Pretending to be jealous just to fuck me over? Petty game I don’t fucking want to play.” He took another hit of American Honey. “Yeah, I got some fucking weird crush on you and yeah it pisses me the fuck off. Three days in is already longer than my norm, but this morning I was fucking holding you while you cried. And what freaked me out was how _that_ didn’t freak me out! What freaked me out was I _upset_. I didn’t like seeing you fucking cry because I didn’t like seeing you _upset_!”

Faith swallowed hard. “Really?”

“Yes! Why the fuck you think I went on a case? I was trying to get the fuck away from _you_! From…” He flapped his empty hand in exasperation. “All these weird feelings and shit.”

“Me too,” she said in a low tone.

“Huh?”

“You think I _like_ being attracted to your stupid ass? I did the exact same fucking thing! First, I moved out of your room because that breakdown…” She shook her head. “I don’t do that. Maybe twice. As in ever. And in front of some random guy I barely know? That’s fifty shades of fucked up.” She looked down at the floor, wringing her hands. “And the bar wasn’t a game. I don’t fucking play games. Which doesn’t make sense because I also don’t do jealous. Certainly not with some dick I barely know.”

His mind was officially blown. “What are we doing, Faith?”

She looked up at him and he saw she was just as confused, angry, and terrified as he was. “I don’t fucking know!”

He was probably too drunk to be having this conversation. Definitely too drunk to come up with a good plan. “Fuck it,” he said, taking one last drink before offering her the bottle.

“Fuck it?” She took the bottle and chugged back a few shots of whiskey.

“So we don’t like it. You hate liking me and I hate liking you. So fuck it.”

She smirked. “You ain’t making sense.”

“Let’s just do it. Go all Nike on this bitch of a thing.”

“Seriously,” she snickered. “You’re wasted.”

“Let’s run the wheels off this thing between us. Call it lust or attraction or just fucking weird. Whatever it is, there’s no sense beating ourselves up over it.”

She took another drink and then nodded. “Okay. Now I’m picking up what you’re putting down. We just let this thing run its course. Neither one of us are into long-term. So, we just go along until we get over it.”

“Exactly!” He smiled briefly before he remembered a deal-breaker. “But as long as this thing is a thing…I don’t want sloppy seconds. It’s you and me and no three. Understand?”

“You were the one getting the hand-job tonight, little Ducky.”

“I may or may not have been trying to get your attention.”

“It may or may not have worked.”

“So we got a deal?”

She sat the bottle down on the nightstand and looked him in the eye. “Depends,” she said before lifting the tank top over her head and revealing her naked breasts. “Did you remember to put a Trojan back in your wallet? Because you made me hella horny and I’m definitely gonna need something to ride.”

“Thank fucking god I’d already planned on fucking you again yesterday.” He reached in his back pocket and tossed her his wallet before starting the scramble to disrobe.

At least if they were going down, they’d go down swinging.

*~*~*

So things remained awkward and tense for nearly a full minute after the Hogwarts Posse left the building. Unsurprisingly to Zack or likely anyone else in the place, he was the first nut to crack. “Where do we go from here, Boss?”

Zack realized his brother might have assumed he meant him, but he didn’t. His eyes were trained on a different guy. The real man in charge.

Because when shit went down, Rupert Giles transformed from mild-mannered Watcher/librarian who had his cup of tea and cutesy British colloquialisms to one badass motherfucker complete with his own set of magical abilities.

Giles gave Zack a look of confirmation before speaking. “First, we need to contact Buffy and inform her of the latest developments in the situation. As angry and hurt as she feels, none of us can afford to push Willow away if she reaches out. It’s imperative we locate her before any of the others.”

“Then what?” Wright asked.

“One step at a time, Zackary,” Giles admonished. “Finding her will be no easy task.” He turned to Mary. “Summon the angel. As much as it pains me, he may be of use.” Then he turned to Wright. “Contact Nicholas. Inform him that we may need use of a witch named Rowena. As long as the price isn’t unreasonable, pay her to also try and locate Willow.”

“Hate to be a buzzkill, but what do we do when—”

Giles cut Zack off with a dark look. “Go to Samuel Seaborn. Willow may intend to contact him or Oz. You will be the least confrontational to her since everything happened before your arrival in the family. Also, you have the most experience with regrettable actions.”

Wright held up a hand. “Look, G, I need him tracking Wes.”

“Wesley is inconsequential at this point,” Giles said curtly.

“No,” Wright snapped. “He tried to murder—“

“Your daughters and you brother,” Giles said coldly. “We know. We also know he has some intimate connection to Sabrina Deanne. Whether he’s working with her, MACUSA or Wolfram and Hart is of no matter. He holds no information of use since he is unaware of Rosalie’s location or even the fact that Faith is back. The worst he could do is tell about the memory altercations, which he will likely only do on Sabrina’s command. He’s useless.”

Wright shuffled his feet in irritation. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“Any I don’t bloody well care!” Giles all but shouted before turning his back on the group and heading toward the door.

“Hey,” Zack called. “Where are _you_ going?”

“My flat. I have ingredients there to perform my own location spell.”

“Really, Rupert?” Mary questioned. “Between Cas and Rowena, is another one necessary?”

“No.” His tone was softer, but still firm. “We need to locate someone else. Someone who proved critical to getting through to Willow before. Someone I still don’t fully understand their absence.” He shook his head. “I believe Xander Harris holds a much bigger role in this situation than we yet know.”

And then he was gone. No discussion. No pep talk. No nothing. Just orders.

“Well,” Mary said into the stunned silence. “Is it just me or is it hot in here?”

*~*~*

Work went smooth, considering it was a demon bar. At least the new customers coming in were greater than the ones being killed outside.

This had been the plan from the start. If Lebanon didn’t have a monster problem for Rosalie to handle, they’d bring the monsters to her.

Not that Nick really liked it now that concept had become reality. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was stuck inside all night with no ability to watch over his Rose and make sure she didn’t take on more than she could handle.

Spike and Buffy were right there with her. For now. He knew eventually they would likely get tired of the scenery and move on. Maybe go check out that Hellmouth in Cleveland so many patrons seemed to be gossiping about. Nick was pretty sure half his clientele had popped up because they’d been kicked out by bigger rivals at the Hellmouth.

But tonight had been a good night. Thankfully it looked like business wouldn’t slump too much on a school night. Most of these blokes weren’t working a nine to five shift anywhere.

By closing time, Nick was ready to lock up and head home. He might’ve actually turned a profit since Spike had remained outside most of the night patrolling with the slayers.

He knew Rosalie was avoiding him. He also knew why.

Dawn wasn’t a very good secret keeper, especially when she found the subject hilarious. And in her defense, it would have been hilarious to him if it hadn’t been his barely legal girlfriend who had a pregnancy scare. After giving him a pregnancy phobia in the early hours of his morning.

Still, he couldn’t find too much outrage in the situation. In his own special way, he liked to think he’d helped bring Faith and Rosalie back together. It was just _not _a way he had expected or desired.

By the time he made it to the bunker, she’d already come home for the night. She was showered and eating a carton of ice cream in the kitchen. “Good evening,” he said to her as he leaned against the door frame, admiring how adorable she was when she did the simplest things.

She whipped her head up, spoon still in her mouth. He cheeks turned fiery red and she pulled the metal utensil away from her face. “Hi,” she said thickly as a small smidgeon of mint chocolate chip dribbled from her mouth.

“Busy day, huh?” He folded his arms and continued to stare her down.

“Mmmhmm,” she said with a nod before swallowing the confection and wiping her mouth her arm. “Buffy and Spike are still out.” She wrinkled her nose. “Foreplay.”

“Right.” He also didn’t like thinking about what turned those two on. “So anything exciting happen?”

She looked down at the carton in her hand, stirring the contents. “Uhh…we caught a vamp and a werewolf having sex. Just so you know they get really angry when you interrupt them. Doesn’t look like it’s going to work out between them. You know, since they’re dead.”

“Yes, that would put a damper on any future life plans. Like getting married. Or maybe…having children.”

She looked up with wide-eyed horror. “Oh my god.”

Dammit if he couldn’t help but laugh. He really had wanted to draw this out. Pay her back for all the hours of sheer panic he’d caused her today.

“Who told you?” she demanded.

“Who do you think?” he chuckled. “Maybe come to me next time, love. Dawn is a bit of a tattle.”

“Great,” she said, tossing the ice cream down and burying her head in her hands on the table. “I can’t even do a pregnancy scare right.”

“Is there an actual right way to have one? I mean except the obvious part where you don’t end up pregnant.”

“Yeah,” she said raising her head. “Not letting everyone know! Not letting _you _know!”

He walked over and snagged the ice cream off the table. “This is new for me too, Rose.” He took a bite. “Remember you’re my first real relationship, too.”

“I know,” she acknowledged before reaching out for her food.

He took a step back. This was currently his dinner. No way was he giving it up without a fight. He took another big spoonful. “I’m not saying I _don’t _want children.” He swallowed. “Child. Let’s start small.” He smiled. “Just that I don’t think either one of us has finished properly growing up yet.”

“Speak for yourself.” She leaned over to try and grab him, but he jumped back before rewarding himself with another bite.

“So, let’s stop worrying about the future and focus on the now. We have the rest of our lives for all that rubbish.”

She stood up. “Aside from the fact you just called our future marriage and potential kids rubbish, you’re right.”

He dipped the spoon into the ice cream before sucking on the utensil. “I’m sorry? Could you repeat that last bit?”

“Gimme my ice cream, Hunter,” she said in a low voice.

He pulled the spoon from his lips with an audible plop. “What’s the magic word, Miss Rosalie?”

“I’ve had a rough couple of days so give me the fucking ice cream before I blacken your other eye.” Then she gave a sarcastic smile. “Please.”

Pouting, he thrust the carton toward her. “Spoilsport,” he muttered.

“Look on the bright side,” she said after recapturing her food. “I’m not pregnant.” Shoveling a giant spoonful into her mouth, she turned and headed out the kitchen.

*~*~*

Faith stretched and yawned as her body slowly came back to life. She was hot, sticky, and sore as hell. But dammit if she wasn’t purring like a kitten.

Last night had been…intense. Even by her standards. They’d banged the headboard so hard a picture had fallen off the wall and shattered. Pretty sure they’d also destroyed a lamp.

She’d expected the night to end once he filled the condom, but Dean Winchester was full of surprises. Instead of crashing, he’d started a new game of Fondle the Faith. First, his fingers touched every square inch of her flesh—he’d even tickled her toes—before he brought his mouth into play.

Once he demanded she “sit on his face so he could fuck her with his tongue” they ended the night with a 69 session that would have gone viral on Pornhub.

Yeah, she didn’t mind riding this cowboy while it lasted.

Opening her eyes, she stared into his chest. Bringing her hand up, she lightly traced the strange symbol tattooed above his left pec. He squirmed and cracked open an eye. “Tickle?” she teased.

He groaned and rolled over on his back. She continued to run her finger along the black ink until he wiggled and grabbed her hand. “Stop,” he whined.

Giggling, she ceased her assault. “Million dollar question, Ducky. How much of last night do you remember?”

With a grunt, he turned his head to face her, only one eye still open. “What do you mean?”

“You were wasted.”

He opened both eyes and gave her a lazy smile. “Nah. I’m what normal people would call an alcoholic. That was just a typical Sunday night.”

Faith released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. This would be a helluva bad morning after if he didn’t remember their arrangement. Wanting to avoid any more of the deep emotional shit they’d covered before the sexcapades had started, she looked back down to his chest. “What’s your tat?”

He was slow to answer, obviously still waking up. “Anti-possession sigil. Protects from demons hitching a free ride.”

“Huh?” She leaned over to give it a closer inspection before giving into temptation and giving the mark a soft kiss.

He moaned lightly in response, but didn’t initiate any further making out. “Actually, it’d be wise if you got one yourself. Rosalie, Nick, and even Dawn got one. Spike and Buffy have their secret decoder rings, but everyone else has one.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mine…mine’s upside down actually,” he admitted quietly. “It inverted when I…well I became a demon for a while.”

“Say what?” Dude had died and gone to Hell _and _had once been a demon? “What happened?”

He gave a weak smile. “I got better.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Okay, when this case is over, we’re sitting down and trading some stories.”

“I guess if you’re looking to get this thing over quick, that’s the way to do it.”

“Something tells me we ain’t gonna scare each other that easily.”

They lay there in silence for a couple minutes, just staring at one another. It was oddly intimate as she focused on his long lashes and hazel eyes flecked with an assortment of brown, gold and green. The way he looked at her—in her—left her feeling more exposed and vulnerable than any sexual act before.

While she really liked it, she _really _didn’t. “So?” she said breaking eye contact. “Case.”

“Yeah,” he replied thickly before clearing his throat and rolling over to sit up on the edge of the bed.

“Reese had a partner. Victoria Swan. They ran a place called Vein before splitting up. Apparently, he got the accountant in the divorce and she retaliated by having him killed.”

“The Kraken? That thing from the alley with the whole Chucky 2 vibe?”

“Yes! I was trying to remember which one! _Child’s Play 2_.”

“Okay, first tattoo parlor and then DVD store. Now I want to watch the series.”

“No. First we go kill this Vickie Swan and any of her Kraelek cronies. Then, we stop and buy more condoms. _Then_ we do those other two.”

“Faith, I believe this is the beginning on a beautiful friendship.”


	22. Chapter 22

Spike lifted his glass of blood to his lips, eyes trailing the Slayer as she sauntered into the kitchen. She wore the smirk that drove him batty—well, one of the many that drove him batty. There was something about Buffy Summers pleased with herself that never failed to make his chest tighten.

“Get the canary, then?” he asked, leaning against the back counter. “Yours is heatin’ up, by the by.”

Still grinning, she approached to plant a kiss on his lips before turning her attention to the cabinets behind him. “Did Dawn happen to get cinnamon while she was out?”

“Not unless you reminded her, I’d wager. Not much stays up in the Little Bit’s head.”

The grin faded into a pout. “Fine,” she grumbled, and reached for a box of Frosted Flakes. “I’ll make do.”

“Gonna have to share, kitty.”

“I always share.”

“I mean why you strolled in here lookin’ so bloody smug.”

“Oh. _That _canary.” The microwave went off and Buffy went through the motions of fixing her breakfast. “Faith called. Seems she’s gonna leave the Olds at her motel when she heads out.”

Well, that was perfect. Spike rolled his eyes and tossed back another mouthful. “Bloody knew better than to give the bitch the keys, didn’t I tell you? How’s she gonna head out without a set of wheels?”

“And there, my friend, is why I was grinning.” Buffy stirred up her blood and cereal concoction before spooning up a helping. “Seems she and Dean are going to take another case after they deal with the Kraelek’s boss. He got an alert for something in Kansas City and they’ve decided to go together.”

“All very interesting, I’m sure, but it leaves me without—”

“Oh, give it a rest.” She rolled her eyes and took a bite of nosh, turning to face the entry just as Sam came through, smelling like a bloody gym locker, as he always did after his morning jogs with Bite Size. “Can we borrow Cas? We need to go pick up Spike’s car in Osage City.”

Sam froze, his brow furrowing. “Osage City? What’s his car doing there?”

“Faith borrowed it. Saw something that had her slayer senses going off and decided she needed a break from teenage drama fest and all things your brother.”

“Uhh, Dean went to Osage City too. For a case.” He cleared his throat. “Something called a Kraelek.”

Spike shuddered. When the others looked at him, he scowled. “Nasty buggers, aren’t they? The sludge they vomit eats through skin. When Dru and I were in France, a witch sent one after some after some Nazis. Left bloody puddles behind.”

“Not gonna feel too bad about dead Nazis,” Buffy said dryly.

“’Course not, but still didn’t make them any bloody fun to look at. Given all I’ve seen, that oughta tell you a lot.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Sam. “Faith killed the Kraelek and followed a trail to some club owned by one of the vamps-who-are-not-vamps. Guess she and Dean ran into each other there and have decided to buddy up to finish this case and take on another. Hence why we need someone to take us there to pick up the car.”

“Who needs what now?” Dawn asked, stumbling into the kitchen.

“Cas is gone,” Sam said. “Giles, uh, needed him in Los Angeles.”

Spike arched an eyebrow and glanced at Buffy, whose eyes had gone wide. “Giles…_asked _for Castiel?” she echoed. “What’s going on?”

“Guessing you didn’t check your messages when you got in last night,” Sam said.

No, they hadn’t. Spike and the Slayer had been doused head-to-toe in demon guts from the right brilliant spot of violence they’d had in the alley behind Rosa Lee’s. They’d stumbled into the shower, slaphappy with the thrill of the hunt, and hadn’t managed to wear each other out until late. Too bloody late to wonder about missed calls and the like.

Buffy glanced at him, then away again. “No, we didn’t. There was…err…an issue with cleanliness.”

“You realize my room is right next to yours, right?” Dawn drawled. “Was the cleanliness issue that you felt so dirty screaming things like—”

“Giles phoned before you guys got in from your patrol,” Sam said quickly, his cheeks going pink.

The bloke was easy to fluster, but more so when Nibblet was around. Particularly when she put her lack-of-filter to good use. If the wanker ever gained the stones to do something about his crush on the littlest Summers, Spike would have to have a talk with him. Not that he didn’t care for Sam—despite his unfortunate resemblance to Angel, the big git was right useful. But he wouldn’t be doing his job as the Bit’s protector if he didn’t make any would-be suitor piss himself.

“If Giles asked for Cas, then things have gotten apocalypty,” Buffy muttered. “Is it Willow?”

“It’s…a lot, actually,” Sam said. “Willow’s gone radio silent. A witch from—and I can’t believe I’m about to say this—the Magical Congress of the United States of America apparently caught wise to Willow’s reversal spell and is concerned that with everything so fresh, she might try to do a repeat of whatever happened in England.”

Buffy frowned, inclining her head. “Not an unreasonable worry.”

“Apparently, this witch wants to kill Willow before that can happen.”

At that, Buffy went stock-still. “What?”

“She and Wright had a meeting—well, everyone there had a meeting. Apparently, the American version of Harry Potter world is not as nice as the British, and if this witch’s superiors get wind of what happened, they might throw all their firepower at Willow. Who will, according to this witch—”

“Return the favor,” Buffy muttered. “God, we need to go back. This is—”

“No, Giles was pretty adamant that you need to stay here. I think their plan is to try and get Willow out of California before anything like that can happen, and believe me, we’ll need help.” Sam ran his hand through his hair. “So…Cas is out and Nick should’ve gotten a call last night or this morning, but we’re supposed to find Rowena to see if she can help.”

Buffy deflated, setting her breakfast on the counter. She ignored the looks of disgust her sister and her sister’s would-be suitor aimed at the mug. “And I was so giddy just a few minutes ago.”

Dawn frowned. “Why?”

“’Cause Faith’s falling for Dean and it’s fun to watch.” Buffy sighed and turned to Spike. “So…how do we wanna get the car? If we’re just gonna be grounded here, better to keep busy.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I can take you. It’s a drive but not a terrible one. And I think Rosalie threatened to punch me through a wall if I didn’t give her a day off. Something about wanting to see a movie with her boyfriend like a normal teenager.”

Buffy quirked a smile. “Ahh, yes. I remember those days.”

“I’m coming with, then,” Dawn said. “Better to road trip than have nothing to do here except third-wheel on their date.”

Sam seemed to brighten at that. “All right. Yeah, it’ll be a tight-fit in the truck, but we can do that.”

“The vamps can take the back seat,” Dawn said, smirking. “Farther from the sun.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “We have rings, you know.”

“Yeah, but still. Unnatural. Plus this way, you can play footsie without causing all of us to gag.”

Spike just shrugged when Buffy turned to him. “Girl makes a decent point,” he said, then leaned in and muttered, “Can do a bit more too, if you keep quiet.”

“Please don’t have sex in my truck,” Sam said. “Please.”

Bit late for that. It was Spike’s turn to smirk and Buffy’s to wiggle.

“How…_when…_ No, I don’t wanna know.” Sam turned to Dawn. “Might have to get the thing detailed while we’re in Osage City.”

“I do not blame you a bit.”

*~*~*

Zack didn’t really know what to expect upon arriving at the governor’s mansion. It wasn’t as though he and Sam Seaborn knew each other well. Or really at all—at most they had been in the same room with a bunch of mutual acquaintances. He wasn’t sure they had ever actually spoken to each other; if they had, the correspondence hadn’t exactly been memorable. And no matter what you thought you knew about the supernatural community, a vampire showing up on your doorstep was bound to be a bit unsettling.

At first, Zack had thought to sneak his way inside to bypass security. Thanks to Spike, he had a veritable arsenal of breaking and entering tricks up his sleeve, and he hadn’t had much occasion to use any of them recently. But as it turned out, the ring that kept him from spontaneously combusting under the glow of the sun and prevented redheaded witches from further fucking with his memories did not nullify the rule about entering without an invitation. So he spent an inordinate amount of time talking to some beefy security guys who refused to believe that a guy in jeans and a Willie Nelson T-shirt was a friend of the governor’s. It wasn’t until he caught glimpse of Josh Lyman—cradling an assortment of beverages close to his chest, as well as a bag of Funions—walking by that he caught a break.

It took Josh longer than he would have liked to place him, but place him he did. Which was how Zack found himself hauling enough snack food to feed a small army to an interior room.

“Thanks, man,” Josh said. “Saved me the trip. You have kids, right? I can’t decide if Donna is having actual cravings or if she’s just fucking with me.”

“Well, I can tell you that that is a great question to ask if you don’t want to have sex for about nine weeks,” Zack replied dryly.

“Noted,” Josh replied, opening the door to the room in question by pressing his back against it. “Got more reinforcements,” he announced as Zack came in.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all froze when they saw him. And he froze right back.

“So,” he said, keeping his tone light to break the tension, “I take it you guys are all caught up on what’s going on with MACUSA.”

“If by _all caught up_, you mean some bitch wants to kill the mother of my child, yes, consider me caught up,” Sam snapped.

Zack nodded, swallowing. He walked to a table to deposit the food stuffs he’d been tasked to bring, then turned back to the wizards in the room. “Look,” he said, bringing up his hands, “for the record, I’m Switzerland.”

Ron frowned. “You’re what?”

“It means he’s neutral, Ronald,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. Then she turned to Sam. “Our friends at the Hyperion did not take the news that we had known about Willow’s prior incident as well as you did. Mr. Giles in particular seemed quite…”

“Mental,” Ginny supplied.

“Hey,” Zack said, feeling a bit less Swiss. “Giles has known Willow longer than anyone else there. Except Cordelia, so I can understand why he was pissed.”

“Sure, but has he ever worked in government?” Josh said. “There are some things you just don’t put in a press release, and I’m guessing that much is the same no matter if the government is run by regular people or freaks.”

Ginny threw Josh a nasty look at that.

“But thank you,” Hermione said quickly, flashing Zack a bright smile. “For…being Switzerland. Sam called me because, apparently after leaving the Hyperion, Ms. Deanne paid Josh a visit.”

Zack’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Oh?”

“She Imperiused Donna to do it, too,” Harry said a bit hotly. “Anyone who uses an Unforgivable Curse because it’s bloody convenient is a threat to more than just Willow.”

“Bottom-line, apparently we got the same sale’s pitch,” Josh said. “We’re discussing next moves.” He turned back to the others. “I still say I should play along with this girl. See if I can get the inside information so we know how to respond.”

“Why are you here?” Sam asked rather bluntly, his gaze now on Zack. “Have you heard something?”

“Giles asked me to come,” Zack said. “In case Willow showed up here. He thought that I—ahh, might have special insight into what she’s going through since…well, I lost my soul a year ago and have to live with everything I did during that period for the rest of my life.”

Yeah, talking about his stint as a soulless killer was a bit of a wet blanket. No one knew where to look.

Then Ron cleared his throat and said, “Well, mate…not exactly the same, is it? Losing your soul’s one thing, but Willow had hers, didn’t she?”

Sam whipped around to Ron. “How is it different?”

Ron blinked at him as though not understanding the question. He glanced to Hermione for help, but Hermione also looked perplexed and didn’t have anything to add. “Well, it’s like I said. She _had _her soul.”

“She had just lost the person she loved more than anyone else,” Sam replied hotly. “Who’s to say that doesn’t kill a bit of your soul?”

“I am,” Harry said, an edge to his voice. “I love Willow—she’s become one of my best friends, but that argument is rubbish.”

“You don’t know what she felt!”

“Right, because my life was a right piece of cake. I’ve lost loads of people without managing to nearly end the world.”

“Right,” Ginny said, rubbing his arm, “but you were bit of a git because of it.”

He glared at her.

“I’m just saying. And it’s different, isn’t it? I lost Fred—Ron and I did. We all did. But that was in battle.”

“Exactly. That was in battle. Willow went bad because she felt responsible for what happened. You don’t think I know what that’s like? Sirius would’ve lived if I hadn’t been thick,” Harry snapped. “Cedric didn’t need to die, either. I know—”

“But it wasn’t just that,” Sam screamed, going red in the face. “It wasn’t that Tara died. It was that her brain was sucked out of her head. She lost her _mind _and because Glory died before she could reverse it—because _Willow _sought retribution anyone here would have sought—the condition was irreversible. And it’s not the same when it’s someone you love like that, someone you want to build a life with. You lost your parents and your godfather and friends, but what would happen if something happened to Ginny or one of your kids? Something you thought there was a chance you could undo? Make better? What _wouldn’t _you do to bring them back? To make them safe? I can tell you right now that if anything happened to Oz and I thought I could fix it, if I thought there was an answer, I’d level the goddamned city trying to find it. Because he is my soul. He is and so is Willow, and if something happens to either of them then yeah, I’m lost.”

No one said anything for a long moment—rather just stood still, trading glares and daring each other to move.

At length, Josh walked over to the table where Zack had dropped the snacks, picked up a couple of beers, and brought it to the vampire. “I think that’s Sam’s way of saying he’s glad you’re here,” he muttered.

After a moment, Ron turned to Hermione and muttered, “She still had a bloody soul.”

Unfortunately, this was not so low that Sam didn’t hear it. The governor looked downright mad, his jaw clenched, teeth bare, eyes wild—and then he was in motion. What he planned to do to the wizard once he reached him was anyone’s guess, and Zack moved too, pinning the man’s arms to his sides and lifting him off the floor to keep him from doing something stupid.

“Well,” Zack said to Ron, “I hope you’re happy. You broke the governor.”

“I will _kill _him!” Sam promised, thrashing. “Put me down!”

“Sam, you can’t kill someone in the governor’s mansion,” Josh said.

“Just in the governor’s mansion?” Donna asked, plucking the Funions off the table and opening the bag.

“Well, it’d be harder to explain here.”

“I think we can all agree that tempers are running high,” Hermione said, then slapped Ron’s shoulder. “But we’re not going to get anywhere by fighting with each other. Who had a soul or who didn’t doesn’t matter in the here and now. What _does _matter is finding Willow before Sabrina Deanne does, because we’re all here because we love her.”

Zack glanced to Harry, who still looked somewhat mutinous, but he at least had the good sense to let the topic drop. Though Ginny, who was gripping his hand so tightly it had to be painful, might have had something to do with it.

At last, Sam seemed to calm—the flailing subsided and the hard thumps of his heart began to slow. Still, Zack could taste his anger and knew better than to just let him go. The last thing they needed right now was for the governor to be turned into a toad or something, and he worried that was where this conversation would end up.

“Governor,” he said, “I’m going to put you down now. Understand if you do something rash, I’m gonna have to stop you. This _isn’t _helping Willow.”

Sam stiffened, then sighed and nodded, and Zack felt the rest of the fight go out of him. Still, he remained on alert as he lowered Sam back to the ground and released his hold, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. But the worst of the outburst seemed to be truly behind him. Now, he just looked sad and defeated.

“Right,” Hermione said, relaxing and sending Zack a nonverbal thank you. She turned to Josh. “Now, Sabrina Deanne believes you might be an ally. How do we press that to our advantage?”

*~*~*

It was refreshing, not to have to pretend to not drink in every fucking line of her body as she strolled up to the back entrance of Vein with an ax slung carelessly over her shoulder. She caught him looking, too, and just grinned, which made Dean go a bit light in the head region. It had been a gamble, putting everything on the table last night—and honestly not one he would have made lightly had there not been booze involved, but hot damn if it hadn’t worked in his favor.

Also, knowing this chick was into him too? That it wasn’t just a one-sided thing? Yeah, that did things to him.

“How many cases you wanna work after the KC job?” she asked by way of greeting. “’Cause I don’t think I can go back to Lebanon for a while.”

This he hadn’t expected. “Huh? Why? Thought you and the kid were all made up.”

“We are, I guess. Haven’t talked much since I bolted yesterday, but she ain’t who I wanna avoid.” Faith rolled her eyes. “It’s B. She’s been givin’ me shit about you and if that phone call was anythin’ to go by, I need to keep my distance until I’m sure I won’t stake her.”

Dean tried to hide his smile. He failed. “Right, well, she has that ring, doesn’t she? Keeps her from dusting.”

“Yeah, which means she’ll be in one piece and able to kick my ass. Just got back in this skin, Ducky. Ain’t in a hurry to lose it.”

He thought of the way she’d leaped on the Kracken-whatever the day before, and the decapitated supervamp at Rising Dawn. “You don’t think you could take her?”

“B’s stronger and bitchier than me. Not sayin’ I wouldn’t put up a fight, but I ain’t gonna live long if I’m not honest with myself.”

“Darlin’, there ain’t nobody bitchier than you.” And because he could, leaned in and kissed her, and grinned when she grinned.

Yeah, this was nice. What’s more, it felt right. Natural. And yeah, maybe that was kinda scary but it was also kinda awesome. Running away from whatever this was hadn’t done him any favors, and he knew how these things went. Hot and heavy and fun as fuck for a while before the novelty wore off and they went back to their lives. So until that happened, he’d enjoy the ride.

And if it meant getting to steal kisses with the girl he was banging while on the job, then he’d do it. He’d carpe the fuck out of that diem.

“One question,” he murmured against her lips. “What’s a guy gotta do to see a chick fight like that?”

Faith snickered and pulled away. “Keep dreamin’. Me and B might be buddies now, but that’s a door you don’t wanna open.”

“Oh, I very much do want to open it,” he said. “How about some mud wrestling? For my birthday?”

“I’m guessin’ it’d be hard to end up in a coma that way,” she replied. “But in the meantime, Ducky, we got ourselves a dhampir to behead.”

Dean wanted to chase the coma comment, but had enough presence of mind to realize this wasn’t the time. So instead, he turned and gestured at the back door. “Lady’s first.”

She smirked, raised a foot, and smashed the door in with a kick that reminded him just how strong her legs were. “Ain’t no lady, but I’ll go first anyway.”

“You realize if we wanted the element of surprise, you just kinda blew it. We don’t even know if this Vickie chick is here.”

Faith shook her head. “She’s here,” she said before disappearing into the dark.

It was easier to follow than to argue, and he was beginning to think arguing with Faith was a fool’s errand, anyway. While he hadn’t been on the frontlines with Rosalie, he’d overheard enough from Sam’s training lessons and Buffy’s slayer-lectures to know that slayers had spidey senses not shared by mere mortals. They could sense when things were lurking around, in particular, vamps. And while this was a different sort of vamp, it seemed reasonable that they shared enough similarities to have triggered Faith’s inner alarm.

As it was, he didn’t need to do more than follow the sounds of a struggle, though he approached with his customary caution—weapon drawn, pointed at the floor, steps slow and methodical. That was until Faith went flying out of an open doorway and landed on her back, clutching the ax to her chest in a way that made the situation a whole lot less fun and a bit more frightening.

“Having trouble?” he asked.

She kicked back to her feet in one of those fancy-dancy moves he’d only ever seen in ninja movies. “Mighta bruised my tailbone,” she said, then winked at him. “You can kiss it better later.”

And without further ado, she launched back into the fight, and then he saw it. Another one of those fucking Kracken things, only this one only had one eye, the left side of its face an open wound. Faith had apparently done a little cosmetic surgery with her ax before he’d arrived.

Fuck, the woman was crazy and brave and beautiful. Dean looked away, heart in his throat, as she made another flying leap, wanting to watch but also terrified, knowing the wrong kind of eye contact would put him out of the fight. That this chick had leaped on two of these motherfuckers in less than twenty-four hours was all kinds of nuts, but she had a better weapon this time.

“What can I do?” he yelled.

“The bitch ran down the hall,” Faith yelled back. “Keep her from getting far. I’ll be there in a sec.”

She sounded so confident. And, he learned, with good reason. He’d barely had time to inch by the open doorway when the floor shook with the unmistakable _thump _of something hitting it hard. Heart in his throat, he looked up—he couldn’t help it.

Faith was doubled over, hands on her knees, panting, the ax on the floor. Behind her was the monster, its head separated from its body.

Then she looked up, saw him standing there gawking at her, and scowled.

“Ducky!” she snapped. “The dhamp!”

Dean blinked, shook his head, and nodded. “Right,” he said, and they started running together. Again, she was faster, and she seemed to know where to go without needing to worry about things like looking in rooms or checking corners. After a few seconds of lagging behind, Dean gave up and decided she knew what she was doing.

This dhampir, or whatever the fuck it was, wasn’t exactly bright upstairs. Any other reasonable night creature would have made for one of the windows or doors, but when he rounded the corner into what had to be the woman’s office, he found Faith had pinned a blond fangy thing to her desk and was holding her down with what appeared to be relative ease.

She glanced up and smirked at him. “So…do you usually go for a confession or can I just take this thing’s head? I mean…” She leaned over and, with her non ax-hand, plucked something off the desk and held it up. “Ain’t exactly scoring points for stealth. Bitch actually wrote _Kraelek contact_ and a hit list.”

The bitch in question roared and bucked back, hard enough that Faith actually staggered a step. “I’m gonna rip your throat out!” the dhampir screamed. Might have been a looker when she wasn’t all fangy, but the view from this angle wasn’t pretty.

Dean raised his gun, knowing already he wouldn’t fire. The thing was too close to Faith for comfort.

Faith, for her part, didn’t look worried—rather smashed a kick to the dhamp’s midsection and sent her flying back across the desk. Then she was moving, all sleekness and grace, sliding over the surface of the desk in a fluid, almost choreographed motion. The ax came up and tore into the dhamp’s throat, and then it was over. A clean cut that, had Dean not been watching, he wouldn’t have believed.

They stood there for a moment, staring at the body, panting.

Then Dean raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “Are you ever gonna let me make the kill?”

Faith just grinned and shrugged. “Gotta fly faster, Ducky.”

“You have superpowers.”

“And I know how to use ‘em.” She winked and dragged the head of the ax against her pants to wipe the blood off. Something else he shouldn’t have found sexy but did. He was beginning to think this woman could get him hard by flossing.

“And since you have a thing for me and I have a thing for you and we’re bein’ all open about that now, I don’t mind telling you that was fucking hot.” Dean grabbed her by the back of the head and drew her in for a hot kiss that had him wishing they’d stopped to restock on condoms before hitting the club. Not that he wanted to drop trou here, but it’d be nice to have the option. “But, babe,” he said after they pulled apart, “I so get to kill the next one.”

Faith grinned and nibbled on his lower lip. “Ducky gots to earn it,” she said. “Like I said, fly faster, little ducky.”

“Little?” He wanted to look stern, but couldn’t keep from barking a laugh. “Bitch, I’ll make you pay for that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”


	23. Chapter 23

“Rupert.”

“I know,” he muttered, not in annoyance, but concentration. “Just checking a theory,” he said as he dropped the last ingredient into the bowl and began reciting the incantation for the location spell.

Relief and excitement shot through him when the results confirmed his hypothesis. Xander was heading toward Los Angeles. The same spell that had affected everyone else had triggered something in the boy. Without any other means of contact, the reasonable conclusion would be to go to where answers may be found. In this case it would be Wright and Pryce Investigations located within the Hyperion. “Good.”

“Good?” Mary asked. “As in maybe you will come back to bed and sleep a minute?”

He turned to give her a small, warm smile. She truly was a vision of beauty lying there with a sheet barely covering her naked breasts. Even with the frown she wore as she attempted to guilt him back to bed, she was every bit the gift from Heaven she actually was.

It really was funny how things between them had developed. She was coming off of a very unhealthy relationship as well as adjusting to being off Earth for over twenty years. He was coming off a very unhealthy relationship with a woman who’d been trying to rebound from a very unhealthy relationship of more than twenty years.

After Faith had so bluntly removed the cover he had Mary had so delicately lain across their relationship, they had a decision to make. The long drive from Kansas to LA helped them assess the situation thoroughly and privately.

It was going to be a very awkward conversation sitting down with Dean and Sam after this mess was all over. One didn’t exactly plan to explain to two grown men about how he planned to marry their mother.

But that was a problem for another day. “Xander is on his way here. They were in Oklahoma when I located them last night, but are nearly out of Nevada this morning.”

“They?”

“I am sure his partner Anya will be accompanying him. Their breakup is about as likely as my returning to bed.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “You already have caused enough distraction by following me here last night.”

She rolled her eyes. “I called Castiel and Sam after you couldn’t reach Buffy. Zack One was calling Nick when I left and Zack the Vampire was leaving for Sacramento. There was nothing else to do but wait.” She flashed a devilish smirk. “Besides, I got pretty hot watching you take charge. Can I put in a request to have you do that more often?”

“You’re downright incorrigible.”

With a sigh of defeat, she rolled over to fish her discarded clothing from the floor beside the bed. “So back to the Hyperion we go?”

“Yes, I believe I should be there when Xander arrives.” He paused and shuddered. “Even if he will be there as well.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you and Cas separated,” she grumbled as she leaned further to retrieve a garment from under the bed. “Hmm,” she said as she slipped a box out. “What’s this?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he answered as he turned to start fetching fresh clothing from the closet.

“Holy fuck, Rupert Giles!” Mary cried out.

He turned to see her looking a mixture of shocked and hysterically amused. She was holding up a…

“That is not mine!” he shouted in horror.

“Really?” she said skeptically, barely containing a laugh. “Because the name here says…” She flipped down the lid of the box to look at the label. “Fuck me! Kelly Morris?”

“Put that down!” he snapped.

“Ew!” She dropped the ‘toy’ and slammed the box shut. “That’s the vampire woman, right?”

Giles groaned. “I never should have lent them access while I was in Kansas. Now go wash your hands…and try to never think of this moment ever again.”

Mary snickered as she slipped on her shirt. “Yeah, that’s not likely.”

*~*~*

“That was,” Dean said between gasps of air, “nice.”

“Nice?” Faith panted.

No, nice had been how absolutely adorable he’d looked when he came sauntering back to the Impala after twenty minutes, a white Walmart bag swinging in each hand. Nice had been the smirk he’d given the couple who’d passed him as he approached the car with a strut that radiated some major Big Dick Energy. Nice had been the way he’d hopped in the car like a kid at Christmas ready to show he’d bought three boxes of condoms and the entire set of Chucky movies.

Having a quickie in the backseat of the car in the middle of a Walmart parking lot during the middle of the day was not nice. It naughty and reckless and possibly the tackiest place she’d ever gotten her freak on.

“Fun?” Dean offered.

“Get off me,” she said with a playful shove.

After getting their pants back on, Dean waited until the mom with three little brats had pulled out across the row before getting out and slipping the latest used condom in the trash can by the cart corral. Then she crawled into the front seat while he got in and drove the Impala out the lot.

“Three boxes, Ducky?” she asked as she started rifling through the first of the bags. “Feeling a little overconfident, are we?”

“Safety first,” he said as he reached over and snagged the open box. He took out two foil packets and stuck them between his lips before reaching over and opening the glovebox. With his eyes never leaving the road, he crammed the box inside the compartment and forced it shut. After he grabbed the two in his mouth, he spoke. “That’s for Baby sex. Which is twice now.” Digging in his pants, he pulled out his wallet. “These are for surprise sex.” He handed her the wallet and the condoms.

“Aren’t we just a little Boy Scout. Did you earn a badge for safe sex?”

“If that was a badge, I might’ve been a Boy Scout. Instead I just longed to be a Girl Scout. They got the cookies.”

“So the other two boxes are just for evening entertainment?”

“Well, we need something to do after we watch the movies.”

She snickered. “Yes, because nothing gets a girl hornier than Chucky.”

“Says the woman who just begged me to fuck her in a Walmart parking lot because she was needing some dick after killing a Kraken and a hybrid vamp.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed, tossing the bag of condoms to the back seat.

“You said, and I quote, ‘those two got me horny back there so shut up and gimme your dick’.”

“I also said ‘shut up and don’t question me’.”

“And I didn’t. I’m just saying that your standards for a date night may be a little lower than you’d like to admit.”

“Fuck off and tell me what the plan is for KC.”

He gave an evil chuckle. “Just wait. We did Osage your way. Now we’re gonna play by my rules.”

She laughed. “Yeah right. You think you got a better way of getting this shit done?”

“Depends. Do you know the definition of the word subtle?”

*~*~*

Willow bit her lip and stared at the screen of the phone ringing in her hand. She had two options: answer or let it go to voicemail. Both sounded equally appealing, but it the end she realized she was a pathetically weak-willed woman and wanted to hear his voice.

“Hello?” she said trying and failing to sound casual.

“Willow! Thank God!” Sam’s voice was trembling with emotion. “Please.” He sighed deeply. “Please let me know how you’re doing. Are you…I know okay is a stupid question, but I can’t really think of a better one at the moment.”

Well, she’d just tried to commit suicide before being interrupted by an angel who had told her of a mission to save Earth and fix the woman she’d loved so much she’d tried to destroy the world in grief. “Oh, you know, just getting by. Haven’t gone all evil, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You’ve never been evil, Willow,” Sam admonished softly.

She barked a humorless laugh. “I know what I did, Sam. What I showed you.” She paused. “I’m sorry for that, by the way. Probably wasn’t my best idea. Definitely not my worst.”

“No. No, I’m glad you did. Well, not glad because again that’s not the right world. I’m…grateful? Because I didn’t just see your memories, Willow. I think I felt them too.”

She gasped at that. She hadn’t known she’d done that. Hadn’t even known she could do that. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I…I know I didn’t feel exactly what you felt. As much as you felt. Just…a piece maybe? Enough to say for certain that you, Willow Rosenberg, are not evil.”

She disagreed. In fact she’d argue it profusely if there wasn’t an angel standing in front of her tapping his fingers to his wrist.

“Showtime, sweetheart,” Michael said, slightly impatient.

“Who was that?” Sam asked. “Where are you?”

“I’m…I’m safe,” she answered. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Sam said without hesitation. A gesture so small, but so completely shocking to her after everything. “It’s just…Willow, you may be in danger. Some people are angry about what happened.”

“I know they are,” she lamented. “I know Buffy and Dawn and Giles and probably Hermione and Harry too all hate me for what I’ve done.”

“Not…hate,” he said slowly. “But I think they’d understand better if you came and talked to them. Did what you did with me.”

“No,” she said firmly. What she’d done to Sam had caused her physical pain. Remembering was almost too much to bear. If she relived it again she might actually shoot herself…again. That wasn’t something she could afford to do now that she was on a literal mission from God. “I can’t do that, Sam.”

“Please, Willow!” he begged. “Just come here. Come see Oz.”

Damn him. That was a cheap shot. She wanted to hold her baby so bad that tears instantly began to fall from her eyes. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“Oh, honey,” Sam responded. “Please don’t do anything you might regret.”

“No. I’m going to fix this. All of this. I can’t tell you what and I can’t tell you how, but you’ll see. Everyone will see. I promise. I promise, Sam. I’ll see you and Oz soon.”

“Willow—”

“Tell him I love him, Sam. And tell him…I’m sorry.” She ended the call before Sam could say anything more. Say something that made her change her mind and go rushing off to Sacramento.

“Jesus Christ, that was a waste of time,” the angel grumbled.

“Did you just…blaspheme?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t count if you know the kid. Now then,” he said before slapping his hands together. “We got a little prep work to do. There’s a couple ingredients left to gather before we take care of business.”

She nodded. “Okay? What do I do?”

“Well, I’ve got some of my subordinates working on getting a couple pieces. In the meantime, there’s a priest I need you to talk to. He’s corrupted by a marking that has him tied to the devil. Once we remove it from his body, we should be able to break the spell and figure out where he’s hiding the last ingredient to the Hellmouth ritual.”

“And you need me to do it? Why can’t you?”

“He’s a clever fella. He’s worked some magic to keep me and my gang from getting near him. But you can.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go save the world.”

“Yes, Daddy is gonna be so excited.”

*~*~*

“This isn’t gonna work, Winchester.”

He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Just come out here and let me see.”

“I feel like an idiot,” Faith replied from inside the dressing room. “I look like an idiot.”

“Highly doubt. Now come out, Lehane.”

She opened the door slowly and stepped out and fuck if he didn’t want to bang her in the middle of JC Penney’s. There was something about seeing her dressed in a business suit that was sexy on a whole new level. “You don’t look like an idiot.”

She gave him a dirty look. “A skirt? You expect me to do my fucking job in a fucking skirt?”

“No. I expect you to research and investigate. Maybe let me slip a hand up there. Then we change and go kill the monster.”

“Is this just some kinky fantasy of yours? Because I’m thinking pants are a bit more practical.”

“Well, it wasn’t until now, but it’s also still practical. Showing off them calves will help open a few extra doors with some of the dirtier cops.”

“Don’t objectify me,” she snapped as she placed her hands on her hips.

“It’s called using our assets. And you are one giant asset.” He gave her a wink. “Come on. I know a guy at Kinkos that owes me a lifetime of favors. Got rid of a poltergeist for him a few years back.”

“There was a poltergeist at a Kinkos?” she asked skeptically.

“His house, sugar tits. Now come and let’s have some fun.”

“Doubt this is going to be fun until you slip the hand up the skirt.”

“We still got the drive to Kinkos.”


	24. Chapter 24

Giles had given up trying to get any significant reading done. The books that were best at keeping him occupied were in Wright’s office, and he didn’t want to get up lest Xander Harris, he of the incredibly piss-poor timing, decided to show up then. So instead, he had to contend himself with one of the entertainment magazines Cordelia left strewn across the coffee table. Seemed Jennifer Aniston had suffered another failed relationship. More’s the pity.

Across the room, a safe distance away, stood Castiel, chatting quietly with Mary. How the woman could stomach the bloody angel was beyond him, but he supposed that no one, even the future Mrs. Rupert Giles, could be perfect.

The sound of the front door swooshing open was heralded by the sound of a very familiar voice.

“Tell me you have some answers, G-Man, because I am going to need to crash and hard and I’d feel a lot better known this apocalypse was under control.”

Giles grinned in spite of himself as he rose to his feet and turned. Standing in the doorway to the Hyperion was Xander Harris, Anya by his side. Xander looked more than a little tired, but happy, and Anya beamed her same pert smile when they made eye contact.

“Seriously,” Xander said, moving into the hotel, “we were hunting this chupacabra thing in Oklahoma when bam—all these things I’d just…forgotten come tumbling back into my head. So what’s the sitch? Where’s the party? Better yet, where’s the Buffster? Seems like something that requires her very special knowhow.”

Giles opened his mouth to reply, but another voice cut through the air before he could decide where to start.

“Ah,” Wright said, coming down the staircase, “it is Xander Harris. Cordy, I told you I recognized that smell!”

Xander rolled his eyes. “Great. He’s still here?”

“Still my name on the sign, boy.” Wright snickered and turned his attention to Anya. “You’re still wasting time with this buffoon, then?”

“Hello, Zackary,” Anya greeted with a large smile and, to Xander’s chagrin, crossed the room to give him an official-looking handshake. “You’ll be pleased to hear I am still one-hundred percent human, so there is still no reason to kill me.”

Wright gave her a bemused smile but shook her hand all the same. “You know I don’t kill indiscriminately, right? I mean, my brother is a vampire. So’s my best friend.”

“I find it helpful to keep all potential threats to my person informed of my status as a red-blooded American,” Anya replied curtly. “Better safe than sorry, that’s my motto.”

“Anyanka?”

Giles bristled at the sound of the angel’s voice. Honestly, how was it that no one else heard that but him?

Anya frowned and squinted at Castiel. “Do I know you?”

The angel drew nearer and Giles moved on instinct, giving the wanker a wide berth.

“My name is Castiel,” the angel said in his dry, monotone voice. “We met in England during the execution of—”

“Anne Boleyn!” Anya said, her face brightening. “Castiel! My, I do admire your new skin suit. A vast improvement of the one you wore then.” She turned to Xander. “He had Plague.”

Castiel shifted slightly, going red in the cheeks. “As I told you then, it was an allergic reaction to wool.”

“I am unaware of any allergic reaction that causes violent projectile vomiting.”

“Ahn, maybe exnay on the omitingvay for those of us who just wolfed down eakfastbray urritobays?”

Anya blinked at Xander. “Huh?”

Xander sighed, met Giles’s eyes, and shrugged his shoulders in a what-are-you-gonna-do motion that was so reminiscent of their days in Sunnydale that Giles could almost get nostalgic for the Hellmouth. Almost being the operative word.

“So what’s the big?” Xander asked, running his hands through his hair. “These memories that came back all have one person in common. Where is Willow?”

“The question of the hour,” Wright muttered, turning to smile at Cordelia as she descended the stairs. “Look who showed up, honey. Out of the blue.”

Cordelia crossed her arms. “Well, we had one of your exes living with us for a while. Guess it was just a matter of time before one of mine showed up.”

“Stay away from Xander,” Anya said, her voice rigid. “He is not here to give you orgasms.”

Cordelia snickered and arched an eyebrow. “Honey, the fact that he can give any woman an orgasm is news to me.”

“Could we maybe not talk about orgasms?” Xander asked, going red.

“It was my understanding that Rupert Giles intended to contact Xander Harris, believing his presence was necessary in our discussions regarding Willow Rosenberg,” Castiel said in his stupid angel voice. Bloody nails on a bloody chalkboard. “Therefore his arrival here couldn’t be considered out-of-the-blue.”

Xander arched an eyebrow and looked to Giles. “You tried to reach me?”

“We didn’t know where you were and… Yes, the situation with Willow is…”

“There’s always a situation with Willow,” Anya muttered.

Xander released a deep breath and tossed her a patient look. “Ahn, don’t start.”

“Well, why not, Xander? You know it as well as I do. You knew it the second we remembered. Who else would have buried those memories? Who else would have given them back? Willow attempted to end the world and then she made us forget about it.” Anya turned to Giles, crossing her arms. “I assume that is why you wished to contact Xander? Why you have an angel here?”

“Nice to feel needed,” Xander muttered.

“Oh, whatever,” Cordelia snapped, rolling her eyes. “You showed up here a year over a year ago when Willow had a little flare up and then disappeared again all on your own. Forgive us for not keeping you on speed dial.”

Xander opted to not acknowledge this much. Instead, he looked to Giles.

“How bad is it?”

There was the question of the hour. Giles sighed and, hardly aware he was doing it, removed his glasses to polish. “Did you know Willow was now a mother?”

“I thought she was a lesbian,” Anya said.

“Lesbians can be mothers,” Castiel input. “Though it usually requires donated semen. At least, this is my understanding.”

“She’d just discovered she was pregnant when I saw her last,” Xander said, shooting a glare that Giles heartily appreciated in Castiel’s direction. “And there are lots of ways lesbians can me moms you…freaky freakazoid.”

Giles snickered. Mary tossed him a warning look and he forced himself to focus. “Part of the false memories Willow implanted were to remove that aspect of her life as well,” he went on. “I haven’t spoken with her to know why, but I imagine, when she was casting the spell, that she wanted to make her mind as foolproof as possible against remembering what had happened. She erased not only Tara from her memory but her…ahh…sexual proclivities. From what we have learned, she was placed under the supervision of Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, and befriended by Harry Potter and Hermione Granger-Weasley and their families on orders from the Ministry of Magic. She met and entered a romantic relationship with Sam Seaborn—”

“The governor?” Xander demanded, jaw dropping.

Giles chose not to verbalize how surprised and proud he was that Xander knew the governor’s name. “Yes,” he said. “There were…incidents that occurred here a few months ago that placed Willow under the microscope. She was prohibited from returning to England and…for reasons that are bloody beyond me, McGonagall decided she could know why. Willow did not take the news of her actions…well.”

Xander snorted. “Go figure.”

“From what we can gather, and from what we have been told by the friends who betrayed her, Willow was unable to move on from learning the truth. I believe she was attempting to understand what had happened and why, which was why she lifted the spell she’d cast on all of us.” Giles breathed out a long breath. “Xander… We don’t know where she is or what she’s thinking. The American Magical Government already had reason to mistrust her and should they discover that she conducted a spell of this magnitude, there is every reason to believe they will attempt to kill her. We have to find her first.” He put his glasses back on. “You may well be our only hope at reaching her.”

Nothing followed this pronouncement for a long beat.

“Wow,” Cordelia said at last. “We’re so fucked.”

*~*~*

Faith blinked at the still hot-off-the-presses ID Dean had pressed into her hands. “Do I look like a Janet to you?”

Dean just grinned as he slid in behind the wheel. “In that skirt, babe, I think I’d believe just about any name you gave me. So yeah, the name’s Janet.” He met her gaze and, grinning like a little boy, did a little shoulder dance. “Miss Jackson if you’re nasty. Which you definitely are.”

It was only then that she saw the surname on the ID. “Are you fucking shitting me? Janet Jackson? I thought we needed these assholes to take me seriously.”

“So you share a name with an icon from the eighties. Ain’t like either name’s all that unusual.” Dean started up the car, still grinning. Hell, he exuded a buoyant energy Faith had never seen before—like he was downright giddy. It was a bit startling but also—and fuck she couldn’t even believe she was about to think this word—cute.

“It’s all about confidence,” he continued as he pulled into the road. “Give them that scary no-bullshit face of yours and they’d believe you were the Virgin Mary. Well”—he laughed at that—“maybe not her. Actually, definitely not her. That was a bad example.”

“This shit actually works for you and your brother?” Faith asked, shaking her head. “Fuck, these assholes are just begging to be made suckers.”

“There’s the spirit.” Dean tossed her a grin. “I’ll do the talking on this one, until you get your footing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can handle this.”

“I think you can handle the grunt work just fine. Making nice with the locals takes a bit more finesse.”

“And that’s something you can do. You. Dean Winchester.”

The son of a bitch winked at her. “Baby, it’s what I do best.”

“You talkin’ to me or to the car?”

“You, Doubting Thomas.” He drew his face into a mock-pout and stroked the dashboard lovingly. “Baby already knows.”

Faith wasn’t sure whether to be amused or exasperated, but one thing she did know was she wasn’t bored. And that was a little disconcerting. In truth, after Dean’s little speech the night before, part of her had expected to start trekking hard in the other direction. Knowing she shouldn’t do something and doing it anyway was a different kind of rush from doing something she had given herself permission to do. So now that she and Dean were going with the flow, she’d thought the fuzzy feeling she had for him would become collateral damage. Prove that it wasn’t like that thing she’d felt for Wes before, that coming back from the dead had fucked up her wiring and though it had taken a couple of days, she was back to the person who made sense.

Very few of her sexual relationships had been more than just sex. Really, the only one she could think of, aside from Wes, was Nick. He was the only guy she’d been with and also hung around in her free time, but truth be told, as much as she valued their friendship, he was kind of a wet blanket. If he made her laugh, it was by accident. Or because he’d tripped on something. Aside from shitty childhoods, they had very little in common, which had made their conversations fun in a superficial way but nothing sustainable, unless they were talking about fighting or Rosalie, or fighting about Rosalie. Honestly, sometimes she’d ended up jumping his bones just because listening to him talk was about as much fun as a root canal, especially if he started in on one of his geeky obsessions, which he always took personally.

This part, the sitting with a guy and enjoying herself, even if he was an insufferable ass, was different. New. And she liked it. A lot. She liked the way he talked to her, the way he looked at her, the way he teased her and the way he could take all of that and then some when she threw it back. And yeah, like she’d told B a couple of nights back, she liked that he got off on how strong she was. More than that, that he wasn’t threatened by it—that he was just fine letting her run into situations that were crazy, trusted her to handle herself, but also cared enough to worry.

It was the way Blondie was with B. The way she hoped Nick was with Ro. And fuck, if that was the way Dean was with her, she didn’t know what it meant. And maybe she didn’t need to right now. But hell, she was having fun, even in this ridiculous getup he’d dressed her in. Even with the stupid ass Janet Jackson ID and the make-believe play he expected her to go along with.

Though the paper had pegged the incidents close to Kansas City, the actual case was located in a more outlier community that seemed completely oblivious to the fact that it was a ten-minute car ride from a thriving metropolis. It was odd because it was so insular—Faith wasn’t used to suburbs looking like little towns from the old west. But she’d also not spent too much time in this region, so what the hell did she know?

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the local sheriff’s office, killed the engine, and turned to her. “Resting bitch face,” he said, bopping her on the nose. “You get the giggles, you excuse yourself.”

“Excuse me, the what?”

“Like you’ve never giggled.”

“Ducky, I don’t fucking giggle. Think you’re confusing me with the Barbie you tried to bone last night.”

He shrugged. “Truth be told, don’t remember a lot of giggles from her, either. And you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I am not—”

He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard. He liked doing that, she’d noticed. His palm above the nape of her neck, his fingers in her hair, holding there to him as he did what he wanted to her mouth. Like he was afraid she’d pull away if he didn’t keep her right there.

“So cute,” he said against her lips. “Now come on, Miss Jackson.”

“I am so kicking your ass later.”

He opened the door, winked at her again, and slid out. And she did the same, trying to shake off her grin.

Once inside the sheriff’s office, though, playful, flirty Dean disappeared and all business, fake-agent Dean came out. He approached the front desk like he had every goddamned right to, and hell, even before he said anything, she could see what he’d meant in the car. It was all about confidence.

The receptionist, a twenty-something pimply beanpole of a thing, almost squeaked when he looked up and saw Dean hovering over him.

“I’m Agent Houston,” he said, flashing his fake badge. “This is my partner, Agent Jackson, FBI. Is the sheriff in?”

The squeaky beanpole shot out of his seat like someone had lit it on fire. “What’s this about?”

“Just go get the sheriff.”

The kid did so, and the second they were alone, Dean perked his eyebrows at her and gave her a grin. “Having fun yet?”

“Should I be?”

Before he could reply, the receptionist returned, a handsome and surprisingly young officer at his side. Faith figured the sheriff must be out on business somewhere, and had to swallow her surprise when he introduced himself as Sheriff Cruise.

“What can I do for you feds?” the sheriff asked. He’d held onto her hand a second too long after shaking it.

“I’m Agent Houston and this is Agent Jackson. We’re here about a string of church break-ins in the area.”

Cruise’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Really? The feds want to know about the break-ins? Must be slow going for you folks.” He nodded at Faith with an appreciative leer. “Or are you just breaking in the rookie?”

Her fist. His face. The two should meet.

“It involves an ongoing investigation that may be occult related, since the break-ins don’t seem to be motivated by money.” Dean waited, looking a little less patient than he had a moment ago. “We saw a string of these in Georgia last fall and things got messy there. We’re just trying to stay ahead of the curve.”

The sheriff hadn’t taken his eyes off Faith. “What do you think about all this, miss?”

“It’s Agent, actually,” Dean said, his voice a bit rougher than before.

“We’re just being careful,” Faith said, keeping her tone even. “Like Houston said, the Georgia sitch got all kinds of messy. We’d hate to have that happen here.”

Dean coughed hard and nudged her. She ignored him.

“We don’t like messes around here,” the sheriff agreed, now ogling her legs.

Good god.

Well, Dean had said to use her assets. Given the way the sheriff was staring at two of her best assets, she figured this might be the way to go. So she thrust out her chest a bit and leaned forward. “Is there anything you can tell us about these break-ins?” she asked, dropping her voice an octave. “Anything…unusual?”

“Nothing was taken in any of the break ins,” the sheriff told her breasts. “Or vandalized. We just figured it was some kids looking for some fun.”

Dean cleared his throat. “One of the churches reported something was missing. Said so in the paper.”

“Pastor Lukas decided he was wrong,” the sheriff said. “Thought at first the kids might’ve made away with some salt.”

“Salt?” Dean echoed.

“Had it in the pantry, you know, for church potlucks and the like. The secretary there thought she’d restocked, but they came to the conclusion that it’d make no sense for anyone to bust into a church and take nothing but table salt they can get at the grocery store.” Another proclamation he made to Faith’s breasts. He was lucky they were such good note-takers.

She crossed her arms to push her cleavage together, not missing Dean’s scowl. “Is that all, Sherriff?” she asked in her bedroom voice.

“Sorry you folks came all this way for nothing.” Cruise at last dragged his gaze from her boobs and met her eyes. “You staying in town tonight, honey? Wouldn’t mind showing you the highlights.”

At that, Faith would have sworn Dean actually growled, but that couldn’t be right. It wasn’t very subtle.

“Thanks for the offer, Sherriff, but my first name ain’t honey.” She flicked her gaze to Dean then back again, unable to keep from smirking. “It’s Janet. Miss Jackson if you’re nasty.”

Then she turned without another word and sauntered toward the door.

She heard Dean utter a quick goodbye before he rushed to join her.

“That was a goddamn shitshow,” he muttered as they made their way to the Impala. “And I answered my own question—you don’t do subtle. Maybe next time keep your tits in your bra.”

“Maybe next time don’t dress me like a horny librarian,” Faith replied, sliding into the passenger side.

“Aww.” Dean turned to her with an exaggerated pout before eyeballing her breasts. “You’re no fun.”

“Can’t have it both ways, Ducky. Either you let me be me or get used to me using my assets.” She cupped said assets and squeezed them together for him. “Is the salt thing important?”

Dean didn’t answer. He was staring at her breasts like he hadn’t had his mouth on them just a few hours ago.

“Ducky!”

“What?” He shook his head hard and blinked as though he’d forgotten where he was. “Right, the salt. I’d like to hit the other churches, see if they were missing it too and just didn’t report it ’cause, who the hell would? Then we might wanna stake out one of the other churches. See if one of them gets hit.”

“Gotta tell you, this is kind of a downer after the dhamp. You and Sam make a habit of chasing down twelve-year-old vandals?”

“Come on, it’s weird. And salt’s hella useful stuff. If they’re hitting churches, they might be looking for something specific.” Dean threw her an exasperated look. “We gotta worry about the small things too, you know. Not every case is a fuckin’ Kracken.”

“Kraelek.”

“Whatever.”

“Aww…” Faith scooted forward across the bench seat until she was pressed up against him. She enjoyed the way he tensed, enjoyed more the way his throat worked when she ran a hand over his thigh. “Sounds like Ducky might be a bit salty.”

Dean outright laughed at that. “God, you’re a bitch.”

There was no venom in his tone. Actually, he spoke like it was a great compliment.

And she decided to take it that way.

*~*~*

There were times Dawn was certain she would never understand men, which sucked because they seemed pretty damn straightforward. At least the men in her life had always been that way. Like Xander—he’d never once had a thought he’d decided not to share with the world. Spike was a walking mood ring, and Giles had three settings—worried, exasperated, and research. Before meeting Sam Winchester, Dawn would have sworn that the only guy she couldn’t read was Angel, but that had been because his default mode was brood.

Sam took hard-to-read to heretofore undiscovered levels. For a while there, right after she’d moved in, she could have sworn they’d been vibing. Of course, he’d fast discovered she wasn’t a real live girl at all, rather a mystical Key made up of pure energy, which would freak out most guys, but she’d thought he was different. And over the past few weeks, there had been flirtage. At least she’d thought it was flirtage. It had been serious flirtage on her end.

But the entire car ride back from Osage City, he’d done little more than listen to the radio and tap his fingers on the steering wheel. She’d thought maybe he was trying not to think about the places in the truck where her sister and brother-in-law had done the nasty, but even when she’d tried to broach that subject, he’d been Mr. Aloof.

Buffy and Spike were spending the day training with Rosalie, trying to work on the girl’s special vamp senses. Sam and Nick had made some elaborate obstacle course through which Rosalie was supposed to navigate blindfolded, armed only with a stake. See if she could rely on instincts not tied to eyesight. Dawn had thought about hanging around there, but seeing as she wasn’t a watcher or the Slayer’s boyfriend or a vampire or a vampire slayer turned vampire, she’d felt all kinds of useless and had decided to hit Rosa Lee’s early to do some inventory.

Mostly to see how much booze she needed to restock and how the numbers matched the register tickets. Given her penchant for slipping Spike free drinks, she might never get out of the money pit she’d dug for herself with Giles.

Everyone had something to do around here. Or at least someone to share it with. Dawn was starting to feel some major fifth-wheel vibes. Hell, even Faith, who had been back less than a week, had managed to get further in with the Winchesters than Dawn had.

Also, she wasn’t sure how much she loved sitting here in one place with Willow out there, possibly thinking of new ways to harness her Keyness for world endage. Maybe it’d be better to hit the road, return to the solo life.

“Hello, darling.”

The voice was cultured and gravelly, and had it not come from absolutely freaking nowhere, Dawn might have even added sexy to the lineup. But no voice, no matter how British, was sexy when she was supposed to be alone. Even worse, it made her scream. Her, Dawn Summers, badass Key, sister of the legendary Buffy the Vampire Slayer, hunter of monsters, scream like she was still that clueless fourteen-year-old who managed to get kidnapped every other week in Sunnydale.

When she whirled around, she found herself face-to-face with a pleasant-looking man who was a bit on the stocky side, dark hair and a smattering of facial hair. He favored her with a smile that seemed nonthreatening, but given the fact that he’d materialized out of nowhere, smart money was on demon.

And she was in Rosa Lee’s, which meant he couldn’t touch her. That provided some level of comfort.

“We’re closed,” she said, mustering as much of her dignity as she could and turning her back on the demon. A dangerous move anywhere else but she was determined to show him that, though he had surprised her, she wasn’t easily rattled. “Come back at seven.”

“Not a customer, moppet. I am actually looking for Dean Winchester.” There was a pause, then she felt his hand stroking her hair. Not in a creepy perv way, but like she was a dog in a window somewhere in search of a new owner. “And aren’t you an interesting little dolly? All that sparkly energy. What are you, exactly?”

Another voice—this one familiar at least. Dawn felt some of her apprehension recede.

“Crowley,” Sam Winchester said, appearing in the doorway to the stock room. “What the hell are you doing here?”


	25. Chapter 25

Sam had been kicking himself for being a total creeper moments before he saw Crowley pop up and startle Dawn half to death. He’d come in the back because he’d assumed she’d be using the office. When she hadn’t answered the knock, he used his skills at picking locks to come inside and check on her.

After he realized she’d left the bunker, he’d had the urge to come find her. Maybe he was trying to make up for the way he’d totally choked on the ride back from Osage City. He hated how he always seemed to turn into a bumbling schoolboy virgin every time he was alone with her.

“Moose,” Crowley grunted. “If I wanted to see wildlife, I’d’ve gone to Yellowstone.”

He stalked up behind Dawn and shoved away the hand Crowley still had near her head. “Back off and get out.”

Dawn took a step and pressed her back against his chest. Focusing on the King of Hell, he subconsciously wrapped an arm around her waist.

Crowley gave a condescending smile. “Of course you’d be attracted. You always have been a special boy.”

Sam’s breath hitched. Out of all the creatures that had passed through this joint, why did he have to sense there was something supernatural about her? “What do you want?” he asked, attempting to keep any panic from his voice.

Crowley chuckled. “Later? A little chat with your girlfriend. I have many questions,” he said looking down to where Sam’s arm was touching her midsection. “About how a girl like her is with a moose like you.” His eyes flicked up to Dawn’s face. “You wouldn’t care to share what shiny prize is hiding in your creamy center, darling? I do love surprises, but I’m pressed for time at the moment.”

“Eat me,” Dawn snapped.

Crowley’s brows shot up as he looked to Sam. “Well, fuck me, Winchester. You’ve found yourself quite the little lady.” He smirked. “Though I suspect she’s more than you can handle.”

Sam didn’t have time to be flustered by his insinuations of something romantic between him and Dawn. “Don’t make me call your mother,” Sam warned. “Get the fuck out, Crowley.”

His quip had hit the mark. The demon bristled at the mention of the witch. “Bloody hell, Moose. I’m here trying to do you a favor. Figured you’d like to stop Lucifer as much as I would. Then again, you always did have a knack for trying to end the world.” Crowley looked to Dawn. “Has he told you how many times he’s actually triggered the apocalypse? He freed Lucifer and let him wear him to the prom you know. Least he could do is try and stop him from opening a Hellmouth.”

“Enough!” Sam roared. He wasn’t sure what Dawn had learned about his past, but he damn sure didn’t want the King of Hell’s spin on events.

“Wait,” Dawn said, taking hold of his arm around her waist. She grasped his forearm and squeezed. “What do you mean, Hellmouth?”

Crowley clicked his tongue. “We see who’s the brains and the beauty. Lucifer wants to open a new gateway to Hell.”

“And why do you want to stop him?” Sam asked. “Figured that’d be good for your business.”

“Normally, yes,” the demon drawled. “But Lucifer opening a Hellmouth will gain him more groupies. Something neither of us want to deal with, you moron.” Wouldn’t be a visit from Crowley without some name-calling. “Besides, the location is less than ideal. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“Where?” Dawn asked. Sam had an urge to shove her from the room to keep her from continuing to engage the demon in conversation, but resisted.

Crowley gave her a small smile. “Little town that just opened a demon bar in the middle of Kansas.”

“Here?” Sam balked. “You’re joking.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Moose, you fucking idiot. Why do you think your Men of Letters put a secret lair here? The ambiance?”

Fuck. “So what do we do?”

“We? I don’t want any help from you. Rumor has it you are with the Watchers Council nowadays, training that baby slayer. I don’t need them or her mucking this up in usual fashion.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Sam snapped.

“Squirrel.” He made a gesture of looking about the room. “Where’s your partner in crime? I have an errand for him.”

“Not here,” Sam answered curtly.

“Obviously.” Crowley sighed. “Tell your big brother I have some information. There’s some activity outside Kansas City he needs to look into.”

“Kansas City?” Dawn turned to look at Sam, panic in her eyes. “But that’s where he and Faith—” Sam nudged her to stop talking, but the damage was done.

“So it’s true? Faith Lehane is alive? And mucking around with a Winchester? My how you boys have grown in your quest for self-destruction.”

“We never said it was Faith—“

“Enough,” Crowley said cutting him off. “This conversation is boring me and it irritates me to be unable to hurt you.” He looked to Dawn. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Fancy sharing your name?”

“Get. Out.” Sam’s patience was on its last threads.

Crowley grunted and turned around. “Try to die before I come back, Moose.” With that, he vanished.

Dawn looked up at him, her eyes filled with trepidation and guilt. “Who was that and what have I done?”

He wanted to be mad at her, but couldn’t. Without the threat in the room, his mind finally registered how close their bodies were. He dropped his hand from around her and took a nervous shuffle backward. “Crowley, Dawnie. You just blabbed to the King of Hell.”

She stepped forward and smacked his shoulder. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because…” Because he had a huge crush on her and he turned into a dumbass every time she talked.

“Dammit,” Dawn said turning to walk to the bar. She leaned against the counter and stared down at the wood. “I really hate having to call my sister to clean up my shit. Do you know how embarrassing it is?”

He gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Considering I have to call my brother to tell him I sent Crowley his direction, I can relate.”

She turned her head to look at him. “This was my fault.”

He walked over to stand beside her against the bar. “We’re both to blame.” He paused. “Can I get a drink?”

Without looking she reached below the counter and selected a bottle at random. “Here,” she muttered as she placed a bottle of Jose Cuervo in front of him. “We’ll add it to my tab. I currently owe two months of free labor. What’s the point in charging now?”

Sam snickered as he opened the bottle and grabbed a couple glasses. He poured two doubles, sliding one to her and picking up the other. “Well,” he said raising the glass to toast, “here’s to Dean and Buffy.”

She raised her tequila up in kind. “And their stupid siblings, Sam and Dawn.”

“Cheers.”

*~*~*

Technology was a wonderful thing. Of all the times in history to be alive, Zack was grateful to be in the present. He really hated the idea of a world before toilet paper and internet porn. Skype was up there with indoor plumbing.

“Hey,” Wright greeted once the computers connected. “You got something?”

He could tell his brother was picking up the laptop in his office to walk into the foyer. He was currently in the governor’s home office, sitting next to the leader of the state. A congregation of witches, wizards and the other occupants of the mansion were standing in front of them off-screen. “Yeah, we got a little shit for the fan.”

“Zackary?” The image on the screen jerked wildly all about and almost gave him motion sickness. Giles had assumed possession of the computer. “What’s happened?”

“Well, I’ll start with the good news. Sam got a hold of Willow and she doesn’t seem hellbent on ending the world.”

A vaguely familiar face photobombed the camera. “Hey! Is that the governor?” He smiled. “I totally voted for you before I realized you knocked up my best friend.”

Zack looked to Sam to see his face awash in realization. “You’re…you’re Xander.”

The goofy guy in Giles’s frame grinned wider. “Hey! I have an assault charge from killing a werewolf a few years back. Any way to get a pardon for that?”

Giles shoved the guy back with a grunt. Rolling his eyes, he assumed control of the conversation. “What did she say?”

Sam cleared his throat. “She said that it was all going to be okay and that she was going to fix everything.”

“Great,” Ron muttered. “Another bloody spell.”

Zack flicked his gaze over to Hermione, silently begging her to muzzle her man. Now wasn’t time for comments from the peanut gallery.

“Zack,” Giles said lowly. “Was that Ron Weasley?”

The vampire chuckled nervously. “Would you believe a group of Harry Potter cosplayers came to tour the governor’s mansion?”

“Fuck!” Giles bellowed in the most unGilesy outburst he’d ever witnessed from the guy.

The video feed from LA shook violently once more before settling on a new image of Mary Winchester holding the computer next to a very irate Watcher. “Hey, Zack,” the woman said lightly. “Governor.” Her voice couldn’t hide her bemusement at addressing the leader of California. She gave a nod and continued. “Let’s get back on track. Willow said she was going to fix it? Was she calm or hysterical? Did she say anything about how?”

Sam swallowed hard enough it thundered in Zack’s ears. “No. No, she didn’t say how, but she was calm. Almost hopeful. Like she truly did think she was doing something that would make things better.”

Zack instantly recognized the dry, gravelly monotone of the angel he’d met back in Kansas. “If Willow performs any magic of consequence,” his voice grew louder as he approached the mic, “I should be able to track her location.”

“I swear to God,” Giles snarled as he turned to Mary, “if he comes any closer I will rip his bloody throat out.”

“Rupert,” Mary quietly snapped. “Honey, pull yourself together or go take a walk.” She turned her focus back to the screen. “Was that it?”

Sam cleared his throat once more. “No. I heard a voice—a man’s I believe—so I don’t think she’s doing whatever she’s doing alone.”

“Told ya maybe Wes was gonna be a problem.” Zack didn’t need to see his brother to recognize the voice.

Giles growled and made to move. The video wobbled as Mary worked to steady the computer in one hand and grabbed a hold of Giles’ arm with the other. “Don’t make me tackle you, Rupert.” When the man flashed her an angry glare, she just smirked. “We both know I can and I have.”

“Uhhh,” Sam said loudly. “I know it wasn’t Wes. I would have recognized that voice. This wasn’t someone I’ve met. Sounded American, maybe?”

Maybe it was Mary’s veiled and kinky threat or maybe it was the new information, but Giles snapped back to his normal grumpy self. “American? Has MACUSA found her?”

Zack shook his head. “Doubt it. Sabrina made her way up here to try and recruit Josh Lyman for her cause. He’s thinking of trying a secret spy scheme to keep tabs on her plans.”

“I will kill her,” Sam warned. “If she hurts Willow I will use the National Guard to find her and destroy her.”

Mary aimed an irritated stare into the camera. “Do not make me drive up there just to tackle you, too.”

Zack laughed. Damn, this woman was the opposite of his mother. And definitely a better match to run in this circle of crazy. He’d have to tell Papa G later that he gave his blessing to keep this girlfriend for the long term. “I got the governor handled.” He looked at Giles. “So, you think Lyman should do it?”

The man removed his glasses in classic contemplation. “It’s risky.” He sighed and began to polish his spectacles on the hem of his shirt. “But it also currently seems our best option in keeping an eye on Ms. Deanne and her bloody scheme.” He popped the glasses back on his face. “Yes, I believe we should let Mr. Lyman play his part. He does have experience being a double agent and I imagine the lying would come naturally to him.”

“Hey!” Josh exclaimed in offense. Thankfully, Donna aimed a perfect elbow to the ribs that rendered him speechless.

“Sounds good,” Zack replied. “Well, it’s been real and it’s been fun. Nobody can say it’s been real fun, but at least we have a move forward.”

“Wait! If that was Ron, does that mean the Hogwarts squad is up there now?” Damn his sister-in-law for having the sense to pay attention. Where was that damn kitten when he needed it?

“Yeah, Cordy,” Zack said sarcastically. “Thanks for coming in today. You really made a difference.”

“Bite me, asshat,” she called back, lacking the venom behind her words.

“So yeah, they’re here. I’m working the ambassador angle. Nobody is getting along, but maybe through diplomatic talks and treaties we can avoid a nuclear weapons discharge.” He grinned as he looked to Sam. He was pretty proud he remembered that much from his college political science class.

Wright cleared his throat. “What? You’re Switzerland?”

“Exactly.”

He heard his brother’s chuckle. “Well, to quote my wife, we’re fucked.”

“In my defense, you all should have realized that the moment you made me any part of this serious situation. But as it stands, I’m pretty experienced in the charming and scheming. It’s not completely fucked, yet. Maybe a 60/40 split.”

“Okay, Swiss Cake Roll, just keep us posted,” his brother said close to the mic before the screen went black. Zack guessed Wright closed the laptop and ended the conversation.

“So?” Zack said looking up to the room. “Let’s get this bad decision started to try and fix all the bad decisions we’ve all made already. Badly.”

*~*~*

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples once they climbed back into the Impala. All the fun of running around playing dress up with Faith didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t really making any sense. He was gonna be pissed if she had been right from the start and there was nothing here to gank. He felt a headache coming on and was really ready to start in on his daily drinking.

“Is it too soon to say I told ya so?”

“Is it too soon to shut the fuck up?” he snapped before flashing her an apologetic grimace.

For her part, she didn’t seem offended. Which was something he was still getting used to in a way. He’d never been intimate with a chick where he hadn’t had to watch his words and hold himself back. She seemed to take his mood swings from silly to surly in stride. It was kinda awesome to let his guard down around someone he was banging on the regular. He hadn’t even really reached that part with Lisa. Not completely. Which freaked him out a bit if he thought about it because he had loved her. What did that mean about what he felt toward Faith?

“Ducky,” she said, “it’s gonna be dark soon. How about we grab a bite, find a room and change out of these fucking ridiculous costumes.” She reached a hand over and rubbed his crotch. “If you’re a lucky ducky, Miss Jackson might get a little nasty with you and this skirt before I take it off.”

Well, that helped with the headache. Moaning at her touch, he reached over and pulled her flush against him in the seat. “Maybe we just get the nasty started.”

“That can be arranged,” she said with a seductive waggle of her brows, grabbing his hand with the one not currently attempting a handjob through his slacks. She took him by the wrist and led him right up her skirt and up against her damp panties. “Get nasty,” she commanded before leaning over to meet his lips in a passionate kiss.

One thing he had learned was never question her in her hornier moments. When she said jump, he’d just start hopping. If it wasn’t high enough, she’d let him know.

Sucking his tongue into her mouth, Dean slid the crotch of her panties aside to gain access to her pussy. He felt her clit throbbing between his fingers as he gently massaged it with his thumb and index finger. The way she squeezed his dick told him that he needed to jump a little higher. Taking two digits, he slipped down inside her pussy hard and deep.

“Yes,” she gasped against his mouth. “Fuck me like that,” she begged before biting his lower lip.

He felt her begin to undo his belt. The sound of the metal clasp jingling filled the car as he began to slowly thrust in and out of her body, pausing to grind her clit against his palm with every stroke.

“Mmmhmm,” she encouraged as she sucked on his lip.

“You like that, Miss Jackson?” he asked in a husky voice. “You want it fast and hard or slow and hard?”

She nodded vigorously before releasing his lip from her mouth with a gentle nip. “I’ll let you steer this round, Ducky. You want it fast or slow?” She made short order of getting his dick out and gave it a slow stroke from base to tip.

He intended to take it slow as he worked a third finger inside her, but the way she rubbed his head and squeezed her slayer muscles around his hand made him forget. Soon they were both working at a frantic pace to get each other off.

“Dean!” She cried into his mouth as her body tensed and he felt the shudder of orgasm overtake her minutes later.

“Faith,” he gasped as watching her come sent him over the edge. She kept pumping him as he blew his load all over her hand and the steering wheel.

The car was silent for several blissful seconds aside from their panting against each other’s lips. He opened his eyes to see she was staring back at him, the same look of satisfaction and desire he felt inside. God, how was he ever going to get tired of this woman?

“I think I need a cigarette,” a voice that was definitely not Faith said into the air. “You might want to wipe up back here when you go to clean up. Got caught up in the moment.”

Dean whipped his head to the backseat, equal parts horrified and outraged. “Goddammit, Crowley!”

“Hello, Squirrel.” He turned to give Faith his attention. “And a very merry hello to you, my love. Let me just say, the pleasure is all mine.”

As though their minds were perfectly synced, Faith and Dean both made way to reach across the backseat and strangle the man in the same instant. Crowley just sneered as he flicked a finger and they both froze in place, momentarily stunned. Then, in an act of sheer arrogance and pervasion, he grabbed Dean’s wrist and brought it up to his face. “Fuck me if she doesn’t smell divine. Is that a Heaven thing or a slayer?”

Dean’s eyes went wide as he realized it was the hand that had just been knuckles deep in Faith’s snatch. “Fuck you,” he snapped, regaining the ability of motion enough to jerk his hand free.

“Gross, motherfucker!” Faith growled as she too was released from the momentary spell. She knocked the bastard with a punch that made Crowley’s head whip back. When he looked at her again, his lip was busted and a small trickle of blood was trailing down his chin.

Instead of anger, he just laughed hysterically. “Oh, Winchester. She’s way out of your league.”

Dean couldn’t argue that. Instead he countered with, “What the fuck are you doing here, Crowley?”

“You know this fucker?” Faith asked hotly. “All your friends this pervy?”

“Not my friend,” Dean said quickly.

Crowley grasped his chest and gave a mock gasp of shock. “Squirrel, you wound me! Remember all the fun we had back when you were a demon? Back when I saved your ungrateful little life?”

“Shut up,” Dean spat before catching a glance at something he’d never wanted to see. “And put your fucking dick up!” He shuffled as he realized he needed to follow his own advice. Stuffing his junk in his pants, he gave an apologetic look to Faith.

“Well, as much fun as this was,” Crowley drawled once he’d made himself decent. “I’m here on business.”

“What?” Dean growled. Crowley’s business was never good.

“Wait, no introductions? I so wanted a little more interaction with Heaven’s favorite slayer.”

Dean grunted in disgust. “Faith, Crowley. He’s the King of Hell and a bag of dicks. She’s a pistol when she’s in a good mood and lethal when she’s pissed.” He sighed. “Now what the fuck are you doing here?” 

Faith growled. “Guess which one you made me, cocksucker.”

Crowley flashed her a charming smile. “Really, you are way too good for him. Just one night with me and I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Hard pass,” she snapped back. “Though I do have regrets.”

Dean tried to keep that one from making his chest tighten. He failed as he glanced over at Faith, masking his hurt with irritation. “Nice,” he quipped.

She gave him a look. While her face was still a stony semblance of wrath, he saw her eyes flash him a look of amusement for a fraction of a second. She turned to Crowley. “Not killing your ass a minute ago.”

“You’re here in Missouri. My guess is you heard about the church break-ins then?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “You got more info than a bunch of stupid teens running around being vandals?”

“Demons,” Crowley responded. “All those meat suits have been occupied by friends of Heaven’s Most Wanted.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled. Like they didn’t have enough shit going on without Lucifer making another stupid play for world domination. “Doesn’t he ever get bored with the whole evil super villain shtick?”

Crowley shrugged. “Do you ever get bored pretending you’re Batman atoning for your sins? Everybody has their hang ups.”

“Care to share?” Faith interjected. “Who exactly we dogging on?”

“Lucifer,” Dean said softly, noting the way her eyes brows rose in response. “Yeah, let’s just say he isn’t on either of our Christmas card lists.”

“Salt. That’s the only item gone from each location, right?” Crowley asked.

“Why the fuck are demons looking for salt in churches? Neither one sounds like a typical demon’s MO.”

“Gossip says the last remaining salt from Lot’s wife is around here. One of the last ingredients he needs to open the dormant Hellmouth in your backyard.”

Fuck if that wasn’t a lot of knowledge to unpack. “Lot as in the dude from the Bible?”

“Hellmouth,” Faith said. “That’s a much bigger deal than some salty bitch.”

“Yes, the Bible. Yes, the salty bitch. Yes, a Hellmouth. Yes, in Kansas where the Men of Letters put your bunker. Glad we covered all that.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “You need to stop them. If he gets the final ingredients it’s all but over. Unless you can kill the witch he plans on using to do the spell.”

“Great,” Dean grumbled. “So they haven’t found it yet?”

“Why else would I be wasting time on you? The free sex show?” He leered at Faith. “You may want to double check the curtains tonight before you and Squirrel do your mating dance. Though, the walls are usually thin at the trashy motels he likes to frequent. Listening to you come again would be worth the fleas and roaches.”

He was a dick, but he wasn’t dumb. He caught the fist she flew toward his smug face. He gave one last look at Dean. “Don’t fuck this up.”

With that, he vanished. Dean grunted and turned to sit down in the driver’s seat. Faith made a noise of disgust and flopped down next to him. She wiggled out of her jacket and wiped his jizz off the wheel.

Oh, yeah. That happened. He blushed as he took the garment from her and tossed it in the backseat. “Well, at least I was right,” he said at last.

She snorted and slid away from him, crossing her legs and folding her arms. “Hope that brings you comfort tonight when we get separate beds. You ain’t getting Janet or Jackson.”

He was pretty sure he could get both if he wanted, but he was smart enough not to issue a challenge. “So, you said something about food and a change of clothes. Sounds like a good place to start.”

This was gonna be a long night.


	26. Chapter 26

Buffy had known when she’d received the phone call to come to Rosa Lee’s ahead of opening that something bad had happened. In all honesty, she’d expected to learn that Dawn had run out of kitten blood and needed Spike to round up some of the feral cats that roamed the streets of Lebanon, since Lorne’s next shipment wasn’t due to arrive until next Thursday.

Not that Buffy had been looking forward to hunting kitties, but she’d happily snap all the feline necks in the county area to make what her sister had told her not true.

There were times that Buffy would swear time had, in fact, not budged at all. That she was actually still back in Sunnydale, faced with news that her dumbass sister had accidentally invited a vampire into the house or shoplifted from one of her favorite mall hangouts. When it seemed impossible that Dawn was actually now in her mid-twenties because the decisions she made and, more importantly, the missteps, were so freaking huge they could be seen from outer space.

“I didn’t mean to!” Dawn said for the third or fourth time now. Buffy had lost count.

“I didn’t mean to,” she repeated, glancing to Spike. “I guess that makes it all better then. It’s okay, Dawnie didn’t mean to tell the demon where to find Faith and Dean.”

“To be fair,” Sam said, “Crowley isn’t…like a lot of other demons. If he was looking for Dean, he was going to find him eventually.”

“You said this guy was the King of Hell.”

“Yeah.” Sam gave Dawn what could only be an apologetic look. “We have a complicated relationship. But if he’s right about the Hellmouth, then…I can see his coming to us to stop it. He’s no friend of Lucifer’s.”

Kings of Hell. Lucifer. The devil. And somewhere across the country, Willow was possibly gearing up to kick off her own apocalypse.

Buffy’s temples pounded. “And did you talk to Dean? Or Faith?”

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed, going a bit red in the cheeks. “Got Dean just as they were checking into a hotel. Confirmed Crowley showed up and gave him the same story he told me and Dawn.”

There was more to that story. Sam’s heartbeat had picked up and his pulse was pounding.

“The bloke catch them mid-shag or what?” Spike drawled.

“Uhh, yes. That’s… Dean yelled a lot and I heard Faith snapping at him in the background. Apparently Crowley…”

But Sam had apparently hit the point of being too damn embarrassed to continue talking.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “If what Faith was saying was true, Crowley showed up in the car in time to stroke the bishop to whatever they were doing. And by the way, Sam, again, high marks on having classy friends.”

“I think I’ve been clear in the fact that Crowley is not a friend,” Sam said, still beet-red. “He’s sometimes an ally and sometimes the guy who tries to kill us. It’s a weird relationship.”

At that, Buffy glanced to Spike and couldn’t keep from grinning. “I dunno,” she said. “Put it that way and it’s kind of romantic.”

Dawn snickered. “You two are twisted.”

Spike smirked and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his duster pocket. “This the kinda not-enemy that also wants to shag one of you senseless?” he asked Sam. “If so, might have to off the git on principle. Don’t fancy anyone sellin’ that story but me.”

“Crowley doesn’t want to sha—he doesn’t… No, and please never suggest that again.” Sam released a long breath. “He said Lucifer has a witch with him. Or that’s what he told Dean, anyway. And there’s a ritual involved to open a dormant Hellmouth here. If that happens, I am officially out of familiar territory. Until we met you, we’d never heard the term Hellmouth before…which, considering we’ve been battling the actual devil for years now is kind of surprising.”

“Well, I lived on the actual Hellmouth for years and never once ran into the devil,” Buffy replied, shrugging. “This dormant Kansas Hellmouth had to have been extremely dormant, because our Hellmouth only opened like, twice, and Sunnydale was still a big ole demon magnet. Lebanon hasn’t been a kicking place until Nick opened the bar.”

“Good ole Sunnyhell wasn’t always open, love, but it was always active,” Spike said. “I’d wager whatever these Blokes of Letters or what all did when they built their little hideout managed to lull it to sleep. Much like Big Red did back in the day.”

Right. Willow had used a crap-ton of power to pull the plug from Sunnydale. All of this after she’d nearly destroyed the world and erased their memories of it. But how long would that spell hold? Especially now that Willow was…

God, Buffy didn’t want to think about it. One crisis at a time.

“What can we expect?” Sam asked. “If this…Hellmouth thing opens?”

Buffy glanced to Dawn. “All manner of demons pouring into this world, for one,” she said. “And if it stays open, apocalypse. But it won’t come to that.”

“It won’t,” Sam said, though whether or not he was agreeing with her or just repeating her, she didn’t know.

“No. Because while Lucifer might be old hat to you, Hellmouths are old hat to me.” She turned to Spike. “We need to call Giles. I know he is up to his elbows in this Willow stuff, but Hellmouthy things are Giles territory.”

“Just keep dolin’ out the good news, Slayer.” Spike pushed off the counter and strolled to the front exit. “Wager we better skip the party here tonight, too. The hotter that thing gets, the more big nasties it’ll attract. And this pissant place isn’t full of enough tasty towners to start losin’ the population.”

Sam swallowed and glanced to Buffy. “What does that mean?”

“Sunnydale had a high mortality rate,” she said. “It was big news that my graduating class had the lowest mortality rate of any other graduating class. They made a big deal about it. My first day of school at Sunnydale High? Dead guy in the locker.”

Sam looked horrified. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah. Kinda ruined fourth period.”

“You…they didn’t cancel school?”

Buffy again looked to Dawn, and they snickered at the same time.

“Oh, Sam,” Dawn said, rubbing his arm. “Sam, Sam, Sam…”

“If they canceled school every time there was a dead body, neither one of us would have ever graduated.” Buffy hopped over the bar and jogged up to join Spike, who was nearly at the door. “And Dawn? I’m leaving you to call Giles.”

“What? No, he’s your watcher!”

“You made the mess with Crowley, this is your punishment.”

“That is so not fair!”

Buffy whirled around, crossing her arms. “Not fair is the fact that I have to go patrol yet another Hellmouth and that I can’t count on my very adult sister to not act like a child and keep her mouth shut around strange demons. Plus, this will be an excellent time for you to give Giles an update on the money you owe him.”

“I hate you so hard.”

“And yet, out the door I go.”

Buffy avoided Spike’s eyes as she fell into stride beside him outside.

“Bit evil of you, love,” he said, seizing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Learn from the best,” she replied.

*~*~*

Faith honestly wasn’t even sure why she was mad. But she was mad. On a logical level, she knew Dean hadn’t had anything to do with the creeper who had randomly popped into his car—point of fact, if the phone call from Sam had been any indication, she had Dawn to thank for that. But the fact that it had happened at all pissed her off…which was unlike her because Faith was many things, but shy and private about sex wasn’t one of them.

But dammit, that moment in the car with Dean had been…well, hers. Theirs. And some smarmy ass motherfucker had not only watched, but used them as his personal porn channel.

The least Dean could have done was warn a girl that he knew some shady ass people who could do that shit. She wasn’t used to dealing with demons who weren’t overly loud and obnoxious. A vamp on a good day might be able to sneak around, but no one just popped out of thin air like that. At least no one she knew.

Faith paraded out of the shower without a stitch on, her hair hanging around her face in damp ringlets. Dean was hunched over the small table by the window, peering at his laptop. He didn’t look up until she had her black leather pants buttoned up and her bra over her tits.

He looked her up and down. “Going somewhere?”

“Out,” she said shortly.

“Anywhere specific?”

“Figure I might as well go get that tatt.” Which reminded her… She grabbed the phone she’d borrowed from B—which was now just hers, she figured—strolled up to Dean and lifted his shirt. “Say cheese, Ducky.”

“What—”

She snapped a few photos, then stepped back and flicked through her gallery. “Artist needs inspiration, right?” She showed him the screen. “Gotta give him something to work with.”

Dean frowned, rising to his feet. “Mine’s no good. It’s inverted. Remember, I was a demon for a while.”

Faith studied the image on her screen for a second. “Is it broken?”

“What?”

“Does it work, Ducky? Will it keep demons from making you their life-size puppet?”

“Well…yeah.”

She shrugged, pocketing the phone. “Then who gives a shit?”

“You weren’t a demon ever. You shouldn’t have that kinda mark.”

“Is this a special club or something? Do I need to learn the secret handshake?”

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Faith,” he snapped, and hell, she could tell she’d really pissed him off. Or maybe he’d already been cooking—Crowley’s impromptu visit had put them both in shitty moods. Granted, he hadn’t been griping at her as much as she had him about it, but she’d figured that was just him exercising uncharacteristic restraint.

“When I say I was a demon, I mean I was a fucking demon. I wasn’t possessed, it was me, okay? I did things that I still have nightmares about. I tried to kill my fucking brother and I enjoyed every sick minute of it. So when I say that mark ain’t for you, that’s what I mean.”

Faith just stared at him for a moment, trying—really, really trying—to hold onto her anger from earlier, but she couldn’t. The pain in his eyes was real. It was pain she knew on an intimate level—pain she made a point of revisiting as often as she could, no matter how much it hurt, because she knew she deserved it.

“I think it is,” she said at length, her voice hoarse. “See, Ducky, I’ve done a world of bad. Bad I don’t think you know about, or if you do, you don’t really. ’Cause all the shit I did? I did. And fuck, I liked it. A lot.” She blinked and looked away. “The guy who was like a father to me wanted to end the world and I was right there helping him do it. If B hadn’t put me in a goddamned coma, I might’ve gutted her to help him ascend. Tried to, in fact. Then I stole her body, boned her boyfriend, and skipped town. The people I’ve killed? Didn’t have a reason beyond the fuckers were in my way. So yeah, I think I’ll take the demon mark. ‘Cause maybe I need that reminder of what I’m capable of.”

She turned her back on him to find a shirt and fit on her boots, unaware that her hands were shaking until she missed the foot hole. Hell, she had not meant to do that and she really wasn’t fucking prepared to see the way he’d look at her next. While she was reasonably certain Dean knew she had a troubled past, both from what the others had told her and the few things she’d said over the last few days, there was troubled and there was fucked. And everything about her was fucked.

“Here.” Something slipped over her head, and the sound of his voice made her jump, much closer than it had been a moment ago.

Faith glanced down. He’d fitted a necklace over her head—a necklace that looked an awful lot like his tattoo. “What’s this?”

“Keep you from getting possessed until the tatt’s on.”

“You realize I’m literally on my way there.”

“I don’t wanna think about what a demon could do in this body,” he murmured, dragging her hair over her shoulder. “And if Lucifer is out and about, we can’t be too careful. It’d be our kinda luck for you to get hijacked while you’re on your way to get the tatt.”

That wasn’t an unreasonable point. Faith gave a short, jerky nod and headed for the door without looking at him.

“Faith.”

She stopped right before she reached the door, her shoulders tense. And here it came. Maybe we oughta cool it for a while. Your bad plus my bad can’t equal anything good. Fun while it lasted though, right?

What she wasn’t prepared for was for Dean to whip her around, make with the head grab, and kiss her. She was still for a second, a heartbeat, before her resistance melted and she gave him back everything he fed her. Hot and intense, and just this side of desperate. He pressed her against the door a second later, and she thought it was over, but he didn’t let up. If anything, the strokes of his mouth became more intense, like there was something he needed her to understand but couldn’t tell her with words.

But they didn’t have the luxury of time to make out or fall back into bed, because if Lucifer was involved, this salt thing needed to be addressed.

“I better go,” she said thickly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, not moving away. “I’ll see if I can narrow down who might have the special salt.”

“All right.”

“Faith.”

“Yeah?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. He studied her for a long second, then released a breath and shook his head. “Just…that ain’t you, either. Okay?”

“It was.”

“But it’s not now. And…it’s never that simple. It’s never just that you were bad. Things made you like that.”

Shit, was that what he was going to tell himself? “Listen—”

“I know it’s on you. Whatever you did. Same as what I did is on me. Demon or not. The choices I made got me there. Shitty, yeah, but they seemed right at the time. Dunno if I’d do it different, to be honest, and that scares the piss outta me, but I wasn’t high on options.” He paused. “You would, though. Do it differently, if you could.”

“Seem awfully sure of that.”

“’Cause I am. Whatever you were then isn’t you now.” Dean stepped back, flexing his hands. “But yeah, get yours inverted too. Maybe we both need to remember where we came from.”

Faith just looked at him, her heart pounding. After a beat, she gave herself a shake and him a nod, turning the doorknob behind her. “Be back soon,” she said absently. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, whirled back around and gave him a soft kiss goodbye.

The fact that she’d had the impulse at all left her feeling shaken. But she couldn’t say she regretted it.

*~*~*

None of her conversations had gone the way she’d thought they would. Which was how she guessed she’d ended up here—at a NoMaj bar, throwing back whatever the bartender slid across the counter. Sabrina had found herself immersed in more NoMaj culture the past few weeks than she had the whole of her life. Turned out, aside from Fire Whiskey, NoMajes had a better grasp on how to get a girl nice and hammered. Also, being around them had an unusual affect on her.

Where she came from, in the Magical world, it was easy to denigrate everyone outside of it as other. NoMajes were a danger to their way of life, therefore should be avoided at all costs. Yes, they used NoMaj technology and magical substitutes in order to blend, but that was about the extent of it. Easier to keep under the radar when there weren’t owls flying in and out of windows. What Sabrina wouldn’t admit, however, was that she actually preferred having a cellphone to the old way of doing things. That she enjoyed Netflix and Uber Eats and a slew of other things that, once inside the confines of her own home, she was no longer obligated to use.

And, as it turned out, she enjoyed tequila. Perhaps more than she should, which was how she found herself, in a NoMaj bar, throwing back shots, and staring at her phone’s contact screen.

They’d agreed it was likely for the best if they cut off all communication, but she had no one else to talk to about any of this. And dammit, she missed the conversations they’d had at Caritas. Missed the way he could take her out of her miserable mind if only for an hour or so.

Fuck it.

Sabrina clicked the phone icon next to Wesley’s name and raised the device to her ear.

“What has happened?” he asked by way of greeting. “Are you all right?”

Hell, just his voice was enough to have parts of her melting. “Hello,” she replied, feeling a bit choked. “I’m fine. How are you?”

There was a pause. A considerable one. She didn’t blame him—she wouldn’t know what to say to her, either.

“Are you sure you’re all right? I thought we decided not to… That it wasn’t safe for us to talk.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve stopped doing the safe thing. I’m your secret keeper, so the only way anyone’s going to find where you are is if I tell them, and I’m not going to do that.” Sabrina nodded her thanks at the intuitive bartender who slid her another shot. “They don’t understand,” she whispered. “About Willow. None of them do. I spoke to your old partner, to the Golden Trio… Hell, I even reached out to Josh Lyman, who was at least smart enough in the past to understand what was at stake. They all think I’m a monster.” Tears burned the corners of her eyes. “Am I monster, Wes?”

“No.”

No hesitation. No waffling. He just answered.

And while the conviction in his voice made her heart swell, she didn’t believe him.

“I don’t want this,” she said, sniffing. “I just don’t see any other way.”

“Has anyone found Willow?”

“No. She’s gone completely dark. And without alerting Congress to what has happened, I can’t use any of MACUSA’s resources to locate her.” She swallowed hard. “But it’s only a matter of time. She was supposed to continue her meetings with Toadmore as per the agreement to keep her from being terminated. She missed today and they’re already starting to talk. When she continues to miss, they’ll know, and they will hunt her down. And when that happens…”

Sabrina cast a glance around the bar, at the couples who were out on first dates. The fathers stopping in to tie one off before heading home. The brokenhearted looking for a place to drown their sorrows. The friends killing time before heading to the movies. All of these people and millions more like them would die.

“Do I need to come back?” Wesley asked.

Panic shot through her at that. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Sabrina, you shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

No, she shouldn’t, but her bad choices had gotten her here. “Just…be careful, Wes. Knowing you’re out there, that you’re safe… It’s getting me through.”

Well, that was nice and dramatic. Nothing like going overly clingy on a guy after spending one night together.

“Can I ring you?” he asked after a long silence. “Since we’re no longer being careful?”

“It’s not smart.” He might ring her while she was in with Toadmore. MACUSA didn’t believe in things like privacy, particularly when it came to NoMaj technology. “But I can call you again. If you like. When it’s safe to.”

A long sigh shuddered through the line. “I’d like that. I’d like that a great deal.”

“You’re staying safe.”

“Safe as I can. You do the same.” A beat. “Sabrina—”

The line beeped and the phone vibrated with the notification of an incoming call. Sabrina pulled back and, when she saw who it was, her heart gave a flip.

“Wes, I have to go. I’ll try to call you tomorrow.”

“Please do try. It’s…very lonely out here.”

And maybe that was all this was—she was his only link to the life he’d left behind. It had nothing to do with the night they’d spent together, the way he’d kissed her, or how it had felt when he’d been inside her. Wesley was on the road, friendless, and she was the only person out there to reach for.

“I will,” she said. “Goodbye.” She pulled the phone away again and, with trembling fingers, swiped to accept Josh Lyman’s call.

*~*~*

“Dawn!”

What now?

Dawn popped up from behind the bar. Nick and Rosalie were set to arrive at any time, having spent the remainder of the day doing coupley things, from what Dawn gathered, after the vamps had been pulled away from the Slayer obstacle course. She didn’t know what Buffy might have told them, but she so wasn’t looking forward to another round of scolding. After making an idiot out of herself in front of Sam, then Buffy, and that awful call to Giles, she figured she was due at least one break. At least until Nick checked the inventory logs and realized how much free booze she’d been slinging.

Again, the thought occurred to her that she might just be better off hitting the road again. But she also knew that if there was a hellmouth here in Lebanon, she was one of the few people with the experience to handle it.

Stupid devil.

“Dawn!”

“Stop yelling,” she snapped, coming around the front of the bar. Sam was marching toward her with wide eyes and a somewhat scandalized expression. Great. Another emergency. “What is it?”

“I need… I found something in my truck and I think it might be your sister’s.”

Well, that was nice and anticlimactic. “And?”

“And…just come out here.”

Dawn rolled her eyes but did as she was asked. Mostly because following Sam gave her a rather fine view of his ass.

He rounded the back of the pickup and motioned to the bed. “Up there,” he said, not looking at her.

She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, rolled her eyes again and climbed into the bed. It didn’t take long to find the thing that had him flustered, but when she did, she couldn’t help keep her laugh inside.

“What?” Sam asked.

“You’re scared of my sister’s panties?”

“So that is what that is?”

“My god, you’re a dork.” Dawn bent over—giving him a nice view of her ass now, because sharing is caring…not that Sam seemed to give a crap—and plucked the ripped scrap of silk out of the corner. “Yeah. Definitely Buffy’s underwear. Spike has a thing about ripping it off of her. Sometimes tearing it off with his teeth. We never all lived together, but the few times I stayed with them after they were a couple, I found these all over the place. Buffy bitches about it but she keeps on buying them. Pretty sure she likes it when he does the ripping.”

When she turned to face Sam, she found him roughly the color of a ripe tomato.

“Seriously?” Dawn waved the panties at him. “You couldn’t do this yourself?”

“It’s…your sister. Just seemed wrong.”

“My dude, I am starting to think you must be the hunkiest virgin who ever lived.”

At that, Sam blinked. “Excuse me, what?”

“Anytime something remotely sexual is discussed, you go all red and you can’t make eye contact with anyone. Either you’re a virgin or you have more hang-ups than a preacher’s kid. Which, given what you do for a living, all kinds of hilarious.”

“I do not have hang-ups,” Sam said. “And I am not a virgin. I have had plenty of sex.”

“Uh huh.”

“Plenty. With women. Demon women, even.”

“Not buying it.”

“Why?”

Dawn waved Buffy’s underwear again. “Exhibit A. Also…” Hell, she was going to go for it. She might be a blob of green, glowy energy in a person package, but she felt very much like a woman. So she gestured at herself. “Hot twenty-something who has been throwing you every signal in the goddamn book for the past two months and not one little nibble. I know I’m not ugly and I’ve seen you checking me out, so what gives?”

Sam just stared at her for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish.

“Well?” She crossed her arms. Buffy’s underwear ended up wedged in her elbow.

“I… I’ve been with demons, Dawn. I’ve been soulless. I’ve done horrible, terrible things.” He swallowed, and she trailed the way his throat moved. It was an obnoxiously sexy throat. “I’m… I’m not good for you.”

Oh lord. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, stomping toward him so hard the bed of the truck rattled. Sam moved back as though she might jump on him when she was within jumping range, but Dawn was so not going to waste time going down this road.

“That is such bullshit,” she told him, hopping to the ground. “It was bullshit when Angel said it to Buffy a million years ago and it’s never stopped being bullshit. Only difference was, Angel was a major ass-monkey and you… Well, you are also a major ass-monkey. Just admit it—the Key stuff wigs you out.”

Sam couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d slapped him across the face with Buffy’s panties. “What?”

“We were vibing just fine before you learned I’m not actually a real girl.”

“Believe me, Dawn, you look real enough to me.”

“Right. Because I’m an interdimensional Key who has the power to end the world if I turn the right lock. I’m the younger sister of Buffy the freaking Vampire Slayer, I’ve been around vamps my whole life, been in god-knows how many apocalypses, and, oh yeah, dropped out of college to hunt demons.” She crossed her arms again. “And being that a soulless vampire kidnapped, raped, and killed my sister, I can’t possibly understand what it means to be soulless. Since my brother-in-law is also a soulless vampire who, before he became my brother-in-law, tried to kill my sister on numerous occasions, I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be with someone you know you shouldn’t. The first guy I ever had a crush on married a Vengeance Demon. Spike, slayer of slayers, used to be my babysitter. And I’m too good for you because once upon a time you banged a demon? Just who the fuck hasn’t?”

Sam just gawked at her. “I… What?”

Dawn patted his cheek. “I grew up in a house where dating the dead was pretty much the norm, sugar. Work that out by yourself.”

And without another word, she turned and stalked back into Rosa Lee’s.

She might regret having done that later, but at the moment, Dawn had plum run out of fucks. Better to have everything on the table.

*~*~*

Dean tried not react when he heard Faith fumbling with the lock, but dammit, his chest tightened without his permission. So he made a point to hunch over the laptop extra close so it would look like he’d actually done something other than replay their last conversation on repeat since she’d left.

Faith closed the door and made her way over to the bed without looking up or saying anything. Slung over one arm was a plastic bag containing something delicious-smelling and cylindrical. This she tossed onto the bed, not breaking her stride as she headed toward the bathroom.

Dean rose to his feet. “Is…is that pie?”

“Uh huh.”

“You brought me pie?”

She appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, an eyebrow arched. “No,” she said, “I bought me pie. Be a nice ducky and I’ll cut you a slice.”

“Faith…I have a thing about pie.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw the T-shirt.”

Dean practically floated over to the bed. He’d swear his feet didn’t touch the floor. “What kind is it?”

“Apple with snickerdoodle cookie crust.”

Holy fuck. He might have just come in his pants. Casting a quick glance to the bathroom, just to make sure she wasn’t standing guard, he pried open the sack to take a look. And maybe a bite. Okay, definitely a bite.

There was a receipt on top of the container—one not belonging to any pie shop. He frowned and plucked it out, gave it a once over.

Tattoo place. Right.

Only there was something else listed there.

“What’s…an anti-Venus seed?”

Faith stalked back into the room at that, scowled at the receipt in his hand. “You make a habit of lookin’ at things that aren’t yours?”

“Well, yeah. It’s kinda part of the job.”

“Even when you know the owner is two feet away and can kick your ass?”

“That just makes it sound exciting.” He nodded to the slip of paper, hoping she wouldn’t notice that one of his hands was inching toward the pie bag. “So what is it?”

Unfortunately, Faith had those slayer reflexes of hers, which she demonstrated by snatching the bag off the bed and taking it to the table by his laptop. He watched as she cracked open the plastic lid, scooped out a generous helping of the best-smelling stuff he’d ever been around, and started munching on it like it was a pizza.

Fuck. He glanced out the window. They did not have time to fuck before they left.

“Watchers Council has a bunch of old horndogs,” she said before licking at a bit of apple filling off the corner of her mouth. “Those who ain’t whorin’ are usually banging some slice of something on the side. Anti-Venus seeds are the most effective form of birth control out there. Tattoo place just happened to have a bunch of them for sale.” She shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Impulse buy.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and his brain worked but something failed to connect. All he could do was stare at her as she polished off her handful of pie.

“That oughta do me, Ducky,” she said, nodding at the container. “If you can finish the rest of it now, it’s yours. If not, we’ll save some for later. You mind if we walk to this church? My ass is kinda sore.”

“Your…” He swallowed hard. “Your ass?”

“Uh huh. From the tatt.” She smoothed a hand down her left ass cheek. “Slayer healin’ oughta have me back to a hundred percent in a few hours, but this little ‘burb is small enough that everything’s close to everything, so we can walk, right?”

At the moment, Dean wasn’t sure he could speak, let alone walk. He just stared at her.

And then remembered the way she’d kissed him before she’d left. Faith had never done that—not once. Kissed him spontaneously, just for the hell of it. Anytime she initiated, it was always with an end-goal in mind. Always because she was about to fuck his brains out. And sure, he’d kissed her several times just because, especially since they’d decided on their current arrangement, but… Hell.

She’d kissed him and brought him pie and bought some type of mystical birth control.

What did this mean? What did he want it to mean?

Fuck, maybe now wasn’t the time to think about this.

But, as he neared to gorge his face full of the best smelling pie he’d ever come across, with Faith standing there with an unreadable expression, bits of sugar still clinging to her lips, he found he could think about little else.


	27. Chapter 27

“Well?” Josh asked as he hung up the phone and laid it on the table. “That sound convincing enough?”

The crowd was much smaller now. Only Josh, Donna, Sam and Zack were in the room. “Yeah,” Zack answered. “Sounded like you deserved a job in politics.”

Come to think of it, he would make a great politician. With the ring, who cared if he’s a vampire?

“So what did she say about Willow after you mentioned the call?” Sam asked.

Josh shrugged. “She doesn’t know who the mystery guy is either. Said she was going to try and do some snooping around MACUSA to see if anyone else could be looking into her. Guess she missed a meeting and she’s nervous that people are going to start looking for her.”

Sam turned to Zack, eyes wide and desperate. “We have to find her before anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Zack agreed. “Let’s try some old fashioned shit. I don’t know anything about wielding magic, but I was a bit of a troublemaker even in my human days. If we can get her back on the phone, maybe we can trace the call.”

Donna scoffed. “Willow is smarter than you think. She has computer skills and magic ones.”

“Maybe,” Zack allowed. “But I’ve been around enough magic folk to know they get cocky. Something about using their mojo gives them a high. So maybe she has been too busy thinking about spells and voodoo to remember phone trackers and GPS.”

“Maybe,” Sam said skeptically.

“I bet a bag of blood that these MACUSA bitches haven’t thought of it.” He paused and turned to Donna. “By the way, you don’t know where a fella could find a bag of blood in this town? I skipped breakfast and am starting to get a little hangry.”

“How hangry?” Josh asked nervously.

“Enough that you’re starting to look like a Happy Meal with legs.”

Josh yelped and jumped up, nearly tripping over his chair in the process to scramble toward the door.

“God,” Zack roared with laughter. “I love it when the mouthy ones are the biggest babies!” Still chuckling, he turned to Donna. “But yeah, you know a good butcher shop around here?”

“Come on,” Donna replied, turning to open the door her nervous man was shaking by. “We can call a place and set up a pickup. Delivery is out of the question, obviously.”

“Yeah, rumors of the governor’s blood lust may make the papers.” Zack couldn’t help himself. As he followed Donna out, he walked past Josh and burst into game face just as they stood toe to toe. The curly man screamed, but Zack shifted his fangs back into hiding before anyone could see.

Fuck if he didn’t love being a vampire.

*~*~*

Dean was a head full of emotions, all of the distracting.

He was nauseous. Eating half a pie had seemed a good idea at the time, but fuck if he wasn’t in his thirties now, and that much sugar on an empty stomach wasn’t smart. Hopefully there would be a burger joint open later.

He was also horny. Side effect of his current addiction to Faith Lehane. Bitch could get his mind in the gutter without even trying. She was walking faster than him currently—side effect of the pie gurgling in his stomach—so he had a perfect view of her fine ass as she made her way down the sidewalk. The fact she kept subconsciously rubbing her newly tattooed butt-cheek just made him want to rub himself all over her cute little body.

“Dude,” he murmured to himself. He really needed to get his head on straight.

“What?” Faith said, stopping to turn back at him.

“Nothing,” he quipped back. “Just not sure why we had to walk all this way.”

She rolled her eyes and returned to her march forward. “Grow a pair, Winchester,” she called over her shoulder.

The kiss. The convo. The pills. That’s what had happened in the last couple of hours to spur his latest existential crisis. All of which were pretty simple on their own. The convo was a result of the tatt. The kiss was the result of the way he’d talked after the convo. And the pills…well, that was just coincidence. While he’d just stocked up on rubbers, she’d seen an opportunity to score some back-up. Which with as rough as they both seemed to like it, kinda made sense. While a pregnancy scare was funny when it was Rosalie and Hunter, it was fucking terrifying to imagine on a personal level.

Fucking hell, their child would be the most fucked up in the history of the world. But he had to admit, as he watched Faith once again rub that fine ass, it would be a fucking badass gorgeous motherfucker.

“Stop,” he quietly snapped to himself. Now he was just fucking freaking himself out more.

“What?” Faith asked, whipping around to stare him down.

“I said nothing,” he snapped in response.

She placed her hands on her hips and arched a brow. “You talking to yourself, Ducky? Because maybe you are crazier than I gave you credit for.”

Fucking hell, he was. But he wasn’t about to admit that. He gave a pout. “My tummy hurts.”

He saw the way she tried so hard to give him an irritated glare, but at the last minute her lip quivered and a twinkle danced across her eyes. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know better, but not old enough to make good life choices.”

She shook her head, but he caught a glimpse of a smile as she turned around. “It’s right up here, dumbass. Let’s find a spot to stake out the joint. Hopefully you made a good life choice in picking this as their next target.”

“I bet a cheeseburger would make me feel better.”

“Too bad.”

“Maybe you could rub it and make it feel better?” Now he was just yanking her chain.

“I’m going ‘round back. You take front. You can rub yourself to feel better.”

Yeah, he was being ridiculous. Nothing had changed between them. They were still doing the whole easy breezy deal they’d arranged. Just because they had a couple meaningful conversations didn’t mean they were going to start making moon eyes at each other and holding hands. He just needed to relax and let this fling runs its course.

Now if he could just make the pie cooperate.

*~*~*

Sam had slipped home after Nick had showed up at the bar. He’d needed a bit to process everything Dawn had verbally thrown at him.

She liked him. She really liked him.

Fuck, he did sound like a teenage virgin.

That’s it. He was done standing back. If she wanted a piece of his crazy cake, he’d throw caution to the wind and give her a slice.

He showered, changed into some of his least worked-in attire and made his hair look hella good, if he did say so himself. Honestly, it was the first time in months that he’d put a real effort into making himself look like a man who was looking for a woman.

Because tonight he was going to prove to Dawn Summers that he was no virgin.

He might have had a few shots of liquid courage before heading to the bar. Reckless, maybe, but a little buzz seemed a lot better than walking into Rosa Lee’s and turning into a red-faced buffoon one more time.

By the time he arrived, the bar had opened and a dozen cars were already in the lot. It was kinda amazing how much activity had popped up in such a short amount of time. It was scary to consider what crowds a Hellmouth could attract.

Nick was behind the bar when he walked in. Sam strolled over, casing the joint for any sign of Dawn.

“Pick your poison,” Nick said as he tossed a white hand towel over his shoulder.

“Whiskey sour. Double,” he replied as he whipped out his wallet.

“Excellent selection,” the young man quipped as he started to make the drink. “Did you see Rose out there?”

“No. She patrolling solo?” The watcher in him didn’t like that.

“No, thank God.” The boyfriend in Nick didn’t like it either. “Buffy and Spike are on duty.” His eyes narrowed as he slid the glass to Sam and plucked the bill from his hand. “Though they have an annoying habit of slipping off to play Hide the Stake.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s a Rosalie one, right?”

Nick blushed. “Faith coined the phrase, actually.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, any word from her or Dean?”

“No, not yet. That area of the country has more churches than people to fill them. Plus there’s no clue as to which denomination to help narrow it down. They just had to pick one at random that’s in the same vicinity as the other break-ins.”

“Maybe we should shut this down for a few days,” Nick said taking a look around the room. “Demons, Hellmouths and Lucifer seem a might more important than luring in a few monsters to slay.”

“Yeah, I see your point, but I’m pretty sure your pocketbook wouldn’t go for it.”

Said pocketbook was currently belting out a number over at the stage.

“You’re handsome, smart, and tall. Makes me really hate you sometimes,” Nick replied with a smirk. He glanced down at the glass that Sam had already downed. “Another?”

He nodded. Looking about room. “Where’s Dawn?”

“Oh, she insisted on changing clothes. Said the T-shirt wasn’t getting her enough tips.” Nick rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t think I know about all the missing liquor. Lorne already covered her tab.” He smirked. “Don’t tell her. Chances are Spike will do it again. This way we’ll just have an insurance fund established.”

Sam chuckled and took a drink of his new whiskey sour and nearly choked. Dawn walked out and literally took his breath away.

She’d upgraded from the T-shirt. Tonight she wore a pair of tight jeans that had to be painted on. The black tube top left little to the imagination as it clung to every curve. And the pair of black heels perked her ass up in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

She’d brought her A-game.

“Hey,” he said once he could regain the ability to speak.

“Back at ya,” she replied, her cheeks warming as she stepped up to the bar. “You look sharp.”

“You look…hot.” He went for broke.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Nick said tossing his towel on the bar and walking off.

They shared a nervous giggle before she reached over to run her finger along the rim of his glass. “Skipping the beer tonight?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Felt in the mood for something stronger.”

Her gaze flicked up from the glass to his eyes. “Really? Are you telling me all this time all I needed to do was make a…” She lifted the glass and took a drink. “Whiskey sour?” She set the glass back down.

He chuckled. The alcohol definitely helped ease his nerves. “The conversation earlier may have helped.”

She looked down at the glass once more. “Am I being too forward?”

“No!” he balked. “If anything, I’ve been too slow.” He sighed. “I like you. And while that hasn’t been good in the past, you’re different.”

The look he received was not what he expected. “I knew it,” she spat. Anger flashing in her eyes. “I knew it was about the Key.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No,” he shot back. “It’s really not. You’re not weak…or evil. You’re strong, mentally and physically, and you’re good.” He paused and gave her a smirk. “You’re sassy and smart and kind of a smartass. But I like it when you aren’t making me feel like a dumbass.”

The anger washed away from her face, her eyes growing wide and hopeful. “You mean it?”

He smiled at her. “Of course.”

She leaned across the bar, so close he could feel her minty breath on his face. “Maybe tonight, after their bar closes, you and I could—”

“Could what?”

Sam looked over his shoulder to the voice that had issued the question. Spike was standing right next to him, his face as close as Dawn’s. Sam pulled back in shock and unease.

“Interrupting something?” the vampire asked, giving an unreadable look back and forth from Dawn to Sam. “Just was curious about the sitch. We talking research party? That’s always fun.”

“Spike,” Dawn groaned, standing up and folding her arms. “This is an A and B conversation. So C your way out.”

“What?” The vampire chuckled and slung an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “Come on, Lil Sis, don’t hog all the fun.” Very quickly the hug was turning into a chokehold. “Sammy here is much too much fun not to share.” He gave a little shake as his grip started to squeeze Sam’s airway. “I’ll tell the Slayer. Make it a thing.” He released Sam, who had to gasp to regain his breath. Spike gave him a slap on the back that stung like a bitch. Sam had to question why that didn’t trigger the violence enchantment.

“You think you’re funny,” Dawn responded.

Spike gave her a wink. “I’m hysterical. Now, kitten beer, love.”

She held out her palm.

“You wanna high five?” Spike asked. “You haven’t even made the drink, yet.”

“Money.” She wiggled her fingers. “Upfront. No more complimentary drinks for you.”

Spike snarled and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket, slamming it down on the bar. “Happy?”

Dawn started making the drink while Spike leaned over to Sam and whispered, “I’m killing you later.”

“No you’re not,” Dawn countered calmly as she handed him a beer. “We both know Buffy has you by the short and curlies.”

Spike scoffed. “Where’s my change?”

Dawn shrugged. “Tip.”

“There was a twenty in that wad. I saw it.”

“Do you really want me to tell Buffy about all the booze you’ve been stealing from the bar? The bar for your best friend’s daughter. Robbing Wright’s little girl blind.”

“You…” Spike said, pointing an angry finger her direction. “Are a brat.” He turned to Sam. “And if I catch a whiff of your scent anywhere on her body, I will drink you dry.”

“Well,” Sam said as Spike walked out the bar. “What were you saying about later?”

“Shut up,” she snickered as she turned to help another drinker who’d made their way to the bar.

It honestly didn’t surprise him. Nothing in his life had ever gone right. Now he just had decide if a night with Dawn was worth a death sentence.

When he downed the rest of his drink, the whiskey told him it was.

*~*~*

It was much easier to work without Dean being a big ball of distraction. Maybe the working together wasn’t a good idea. They were hornier than two teenagers with their parents out of town. Yeah, she was still pretty pissed about that demon fucker earlier.

The problem was she liked Ducky. Not just when he was all on her like white on rice. She liked his voice and most of the shit he said. And he seemed to like it right back. Which was weird because she’d really never liked the non-sex parts of men.

Maybe she was just Stella right now. After her stint in Heaven, she needed time to get her groove back. Made sense that she’d need a little time to get back to her old self. So, it was time to end all this internal melodrama and get back to living la vida loca.

Faith saw a flash of light from inside the church. Her spidey senses tingled and she knew this was go time. She took a step toward the back door of the church, but then felt a pair of arms grab her and send her hurtling in the air.

The landing knocked the breath from her lungs as she crumbled to the ground. She looked up to see two black-eyed bastards making a beeline her direction. “Okay,” she huffed as she hopped up to her feet. “You made me land on my ass. That actually kinda hurt. Now I’m going to kill you extra dead.”

It was sorta fun taking on two demons at once. She hadn’t really encountered these type of fuckers before, so it was interesting learning how they moved. They were a lot like dudes cranked up on meth. Hella strong and hella fast, but nothing too special.

It wasn’t until she heard a pane of glass shatter behind her in the church that she started getting serious. If she was out here, that meant Ducky was in there going solo. With a few quick swipes of her machete, she was looking down at a couple headless sons of bitches.

Faith was turning toward the church when the sound of slow clapping behind made her stop in her tracks.

“That. Was. Hot.”

Her skin broke out in goosebumps as alarm bells rang out in her head. That voice wasn’t her Ducky.

Whipping around, she saw what seemed to be the figure of a man standing amongst a small thicket of trees and brush. “Honestly, I’ve heard of slayers, but never seen one in action.” She heard his sharp intake of breath. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Funny though. I heard you were blondes.”

Well, if this fucker didn’t have a death wish. “Who the fuck are you?” she snapped.

“Right now? You’re biggest fan. So which are you? Rosie or… Sorry, but the other name was silly. Bunny?”

Later, she was gonna have to give B some shit about Bunny the Vampire Slayer. Right now though, her patience grew thinner every time another loud crash sounded from the church. “Neither, so if you don’t mind, let’s skip the chitchat and get right to the point where I chop your head off.”

She took off in a charge toward the bastard, but a bolt of force slammed into her and made her completely immobile. Her eyes looked on in sheer panic as the monster stepped from the shadows and approached her.

“Shut the front door!” he cried, clasping his hands in excitement as he walked up and stood before her. “Faith? Faith Lehane? Are you an angel? Because you must be Heaven sent.” He snickered before raising his hand to gently caress her cheek. “I was surprised as you that you made it up the stairs. Been wanting to meet you for a while. Stuff came up.”

She still couldn’t move. Why the hell couldn’t she move? Her panic was quickly turning to outright fear.

“It’s okay,” he said with a soft smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His eyes flickered toward the church. “You friend is another story. I can’t keep the kiddies from breaking their toys.”

He caressed her cheek once more before taking a step back to examine her up and down. “My, my, my. What nice everything you have.” He looked her square in the eyes. “So why did he send you back? What little trick is up Chuck’s sleeve? Because if it’s with you, it’s gotta be a good one.”

She heard a loud crash. “Faith!” Dean howled out into the dark. “Faith! Faith!”

The man rolled his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me? Seriously, of all the dicks in the world, you’re running around with Dean Winchester? Oh baby, we are going to have to work on your standards. There’s self-loathing and then there’s”—he gestured toward the church—“that.”

With a sigh, he turned around. “I hate to go, but duty calls.” He whipped his head back to give her one last smile. “Goodnight, my little angel.”

As soon as he vanished into thin air, Faith suddenly was able to move again. She stumbled a bit as her mind had forgotten her legs had been running at the time. She was trembling and dropped the machete as she tried to steady her racing heart.

“Faith!” Dean’s scream was painful to her soul.

“Here!” Her voice was so shaky she wasn’t sure the volume carried.

Apparently it had, because moments later Dean was panting before her, covered in blood.

“Are you hurt?” they asked in unison.

“No,” she croaked.

“I’ll be fine,” he rasped. She barely had time to register the scratch across his cheek or the blood-soaked cloth around a slash on his arm before he grasped her and pulled her into a tight hug. “Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

She wrapped her arms around him, finding solace in his embrace. They held each other until their breathing returned to normal. Then her brain turned back on. “Shit!” she said, pulling back. “The salt!”

Dean shook his head and wiped his bloody face with his cleaner sleeve. “Not here. I took out two demons. Exorcised the third. I watched them ransack the place before I made a move. They had bupkis.”

“You mean all that and we still got nada?” Goddamn, this wasn’t cool.

Dean shook his head. “I say we hit more churches in the morning. Talk to the pastors and priests. Maybe they know what they’re hiding and maybe we can convince them to hand it over to save the world.”

“When has it ever been that simple?”

“Never. So I say after thirty years hunting I deserve a break.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on. I need a cheeseburger and a fifth of something hard.”

She looked at his arm. “You maybe want to get that checked out?”

“I got a kit in the car.” He pulled her forward as he started toward the road. “Which reminds me, how’s your sewing skills, Betsy Ross?”

Oh, god. She knew he was serious. “We better make it two fifths.”


	28. Chapter 28

They were talking themselves in circles. There truly was only one immediate solution, and he bloody hated it.

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. The others in the lobby immediately stilled and looked at him with the sort of open-eyed expectation to which he’d been accustomed since first entering the library at Sunnydale High.

Over the years, he’d found that, after receiving particularly bad news, his first thoughts—no matter how much he didn’t care for them—were often the right ones. And his first thought after getting off the phone with Dawn earlier had been to suggest something he’d really rather not, but the more he mulled it over, the more certain he became that it was the right course of action.

Zack Wright had very little appreciation for what it meant that a Hellmouth was brewing in Lebanon, aside from said Hellmouth’s proximity to his daughter. Though he’d been with Cordelia Chase for more than ten years, and Cordelia had no shortage of Hellmouth stories of her own, it seemed rather unlikely that they had spent too much time contemplating the nature of Hellmouths when Los Angeles kept them plenty busy. But Xander knew, as did Anya. And that much had spurred a conversation and a series of stories that had left Wright increasingly panicked, and for bloody good reason.

“Mary,” Giles said, his voice soft but carrying. “I think you must return to Lebanon at once.”

Mary didn’t balk—one of the many things he loved about her. If she received unexpected news, she took it with aplomb, digested it, and then asked relevant questions. He wasn’t sure if this was a reflection of the fact that she, like her sons, had died at least once or her age. Perhaps both.

“Oh?” she asked.

“From what this…Crowley person told Sam and Dawn, the Men of Letters intentionally located their bunker there for the purpose of managing or, at the very least, addressing the existence of the Hellmouth.” Giles sighed again, his temples starting to throb. “I am confident that had any record of the Hellmouth’s existence remained in the bunker, your Sam would have uncovered it in his hours of dedicated reading. I believe it is safe to assume that if books on the Hellmouth exist in Lebanon, they are in an area your boys have not yet discovered. We need to know what the Men of Letters did to keep that Hellmouth not only closed, but inactive.” He met her eyes solemnly. “I’m so sorry, my dear, but I need you to facilitate a meeting with Mr. Ketch.”

Again, no reaction. Though he knew she loathed the man—and for a damn good reason, if he did say so himself—she didn’t recoil. Rather pursed her lips and gave him a nod, the sort that made him think she’d arrived at the same conclusion ahead of him and had just been waiting for him to catch up.

“Who’s this Mr. Ketch?” Wright asked.

“He’s with the British Men of Letters. They are part of the Watchers Council, but how much information is shared between the two is debatable. Until recently, the Watchers Council had rather let the Men of Letters act independently, to the detriment of both organizations.” Giles nodded at Mary. “Mr. Ketch and Mary have a…history.”

Mary smirked and glanced to Wright. “We fucked. He tried to kill me. I succeeded in killing him. But nothing in our world stays dead very long.”

“Except Fred,” Cordelia said, crossing her arms with a scowl. “Seems the criteria for returning from the dead as far as the PTB are concerned is you have to have been an asshole at some point in your life. Or have a sacred calling. Or hell, why not both?”

Wright frowned and reached over to pat her shoulder.

“Or make a deal with a crossroads demon,” Mary muttered.

“I’m just sick of it,” Cordelia said, rolling her head back. “And I know, massive sidebar, but what the hell? I’m sorry,” she said to Mary a moment later, apparently realizing she’d essentially called her and her sons assholes. “Really, but…in our world, getting second chances post-mortem is pretty damn common. You’re right. So who gets second chances? People like this Ketch person. Or Darla.” She turned to Wright. “Who’s on her third chance now, if we’re keeping up. Buffy got vamped, but from the way you and Spike have told that story, she should have been well past the point of being resuscitated. Faith came back twice now. There’s that Slater person your brother’s always talking about. And your sons, of course.” She looked back to Mary. “But not Fred? Not someone who, by coming back, might have saved us a crap-ton of shit with Wes and Rosalie? If Fred had come back, Wes probably would never have gone to Wolfram and Hart and both our daughters would still be here and not anywhere near a goddamned hellmouth. Tara didn’t die, either, but if it’s that simple to bring someone back, it has to be that simple to restore someone’s mind. So who decided not to do that, and to let Willow go off the freaking rails and put the entire world in danger, again? Who the hell is up there making these bullshit decisions?”

Castiel and Mary exchanged a glance. “I could tell you,” Castiel said, “but I doubt it would be of much comfort.”

“Go figure,” Cordelia huffed.

“Regardless,” Giles said, not unsympathetic to Cordelia—actually entirely sympathetic—but determined to remain in point, “Mr. Ketch might have insight into how the Lebanon Hellmouth was managed. And, ahh, I do not wish to speak ill of your sons, but…”

The corner of Mary’s mouth ticked up. “Well, the one you’d really have to worry about is on the road, from what Sam told me. But I see your point.”

Xander, who had been quiet as he absorbed the conversation, sat forward. “What about her sons? Isn’t she the one who killed this guy to begin with?”

“Yes,” Giles said. “That is why I want her to go back.”

“You’re making the kind of sense that’s not.”

“Sam and Dean hate Ketch in principle,” Mary said.

“The principle that he tried to kill you,” Anya offered bluntly.

“Well, they also weren’t wild about the sex.” At this, Mary grinned at Giles. “But yes, it was more that the Men of Letters was corrupt and… Well, that’s a long story that we shouldn’t get into now.”

“Thank you,” Anya said, smiling. “I do not like being bored.”

Giles cleared his throat. “The point is, while Sam and Dean might be more, ahh, reactionary to Mr. Ketch’s presence, Mary will not. Nor will she refrain from taking the appropriate measures if need be.”

“If he needs to be put down again,” Wright said.

“Precisely.” Giles was quiet for a moment, then heaved another sigh, this one filled with tension because he truly did not wish to say the next part. “It has also become even more important that we locate Willow, this business with MACUSA and the memory restoration aside.” He looked to Xander. “You know why.”

Xander swallowed hard and nodded. “Willow closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth and made it inactive.”

“Yes. To my knowledge, she is the only person in the world with that sort of power.”

“So we’ve gone from being afraid Willow will do big magic to needing to find her so she can do big magic.” Wright looked sick. “Near my daughter.”

“I am hopeful that Mr. Ketch will know something, or have access to someone who knows something, so that is not our only option, but yes.” He tensed further and forced himself to look at the blasted angel. “You must remain here to help us locate her. If she does magic, and I do believe she will, you are our best hope of finding her. Just as Xander is our best hope of reaching her.”

Mary smiled and patted him on the back. “Good job, honey.”

“And you.” Giles looked to Wright. “You or your brother or Mr. Gunn are the damned angel’s best hope of not being pummeled or worse by yours truly. So please, especially with Mary departing, keep me from killing the prat.”

Xander frowned. “What do you have against angels?”

Giles sighed. “Oh, do not get me started.”

“Don’t,” Mary agreed. Then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That’s a story for another time.”

“I, for one, will be glad to hear it,” Castiel muttered.

“Oh, stuff it, you winged blighter.”

*~*~*

The second they were inside the room, Faith turned to Dean and began tearing at his shirt.

“Whoa,” he said, holding up his hands. “First-aid first, then we can talk.”

She met his eyes with a roll of her own, stripped his overshirt off his shoulders and pulled the tee over his head. Then, reminding herself to be gentle, she lifted his wrist so she could inspect the cut on his arm more closely. Not that she had a very good view—too much blood in the way, and she didn’t want to start poking at it.

“All right,” she muttered, stepping back. “You got that kit in the car, right?”

“Yeah. You up for it?”

To be honest, no. The cut looked wicked nasty and she didn’t love the idea of causing him more pain. From the way he winced when he thought her attention was elsewhere, she gathered this thing hurt like a motherfucker already.

But it was this or let him do it himself, and that was worse.

“All right. I’m gonna go get some hooch and some food. You shower and get that clean so I can get all nursey on your ass when I get back.” She held out a hand. “Keys?”

Dean blinked at her, somewhat dazed. Then he shook his head. “Huh?”

“Keys, Ducky. Think my ass can take sitting down now since some motherfucker threw me on it.”

He frowned and ran his good hand over said ass. “You hurt?”

“I already told you no. Now keys.”

“You want the keys to my car. To Baby.”

Faith felt her temper rise a notch and tightened her jaw. She’d known he was a bit precious about the car but hadn’t figured on him being downright stupid. Such to the point where he was standing in front of her, bleeding, and reluctant to let her take a spin at the wheel to get the things he’d said he wanted. “Fine,” she snapped, stepping back. “I’ll order a pizza and go to the liquor store across the street. Wouldn’t want to sully the Impala.”

“Hey—”

“Nope. I’m gone.” She plunged a hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Be back in a flash. Get yourself clean.”

“Faith, it’s not you—”

“Yeah, yeah.” She was out the door the next second, pulling her cellphone from her pocket and Googling the closest delivery place. She ordered meat lovers, figuring it was a safe bet, but also not giving a fuck at the moment if Dean liked it or not.

She didn’t linger at the liquor store, rather grabbed a bottle of whiskey and counted her lucky stars that they also had over-the-counter pain reliever. She debated going for shot glasses, but decided that Dean was likely a drink-from-the-bottle guy, and if he wasn’t, he would be tonight. By the time she negotiated her way back across the parking lot, she had more or less let go of her annoyance at his reticence to let her drive his precious car. The image of him stumbling into her line of sight, covered in blood, was more powerful than frustration.

Fuck, it had been a long ass time since she’d been that scared. Well, maybe not that long. She’d been that scared when she’d learned what the bracelet would do to Rosalie…and hell, the fact that she’d even made the mental comparison was enough to give her a different kind of scare. She shook her head to clear it and decided a moment later that what she’d felt then had been amplified by the freaky ass demon that had popped out of nowhere.

Dean was still in the shower when she entered the room, which was fine because she still needed that first-aid kit. She snatched his jeans off the floor and retrieved the car keys—debated for a moment taking the Impala for a cruise around the parking lot just to fuck with him, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth a bullshit argument. The kit was in the trunk, along with a whole assortment of goodies she hadn’t gotten to play with. She’d have to ask which were the best at decapitating the kind of demons that could seize command of her body at will, because those were the fuckers who really needed to die.

When she reentered the room a second time, Dean was standing by the bathroom, wet and wearing nothing but a towel. The cut on his arm was still bleeding but looked a little less gnarly.

She met his eyes as she kicked the door shut, then nodded to the bed. “Park it. Let’s get this over with.”

Dean didn’t move at first, instead watched her deposit his car keys on the table by his laptop before she grabbed the bag with the booze. He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe apologize for being an idiot about his car, but she wouldn’t hold her breath. In the end, he opted for nothing and moved to sit at the foot of the bed.

Faith tore open the kit. Rubbing alcohol—good, they wouldn’t have to waste any of the drinking kind—bandages, burn ointment, body-adhesive tape, band-aids, gauze, tweezers, scissors, eye-dressings, antiseptic cream, three packs of floss and a selection of needles. She frowned and held up the floss. “You use this?”

“It’s more durable than the alternative, so yeah.”

“All right.” She grabbed a selection of things from the kit and made her way to the bed, then backtracked for the bottle of whiskey and the pain killers. The latter she tossed to Dean before heading to the bathroom to grab a few towels.

“I ordered a pizza,” she said upon returning, finding it hard to look at him for some reason. “Meat lovers.”

“Awesome.” He sounded genuinely pleased.

“I’d like to have this done before they get here.” She laid out a towel on the floor before dropping to her knees in front of him. “You take the Advil?”

He held up the bottle. “Thanks for this. Though I think we had some in the kit.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t check before I left.”

Faith grabbed the rubbing alcohol and dabbed a sizable portion onto the washcloth. She was overly aware of herself, the way his arm felt against her left hand as her right took gentle swipes of the wounded area. He jerked a bit but didn’t otherwise betray he’d felt a thing, though the sensation of his eyes on her face became a bit much for her, so she scoured her mind for something to talk about that would distract him from what she was doing.

“Just how many of your demon buds can pull that freeze frame bullshit? 'Cause I gotta say, not a fan.”

Dean went rigid. “What?”

“Same trick as your friend from earlier,” Faith muttered, threading the needle with floss. “Different asshole, though. And I gotta add, I don’t know how to take the fact that they all seem to dig me. I know I have a type, but I also have fucking standards.”

“What are you talking about? Did something happen?”

She sat forward and at last looked up, and was startled to see real worry on his face. Worry and something else.

“Couple black-eyed demons jumped me,” she continued a moment longer. The needle was threaded; all that was left to do was the actual sewing. Goddammit, she had a stomach made of iron, but the idea of piercing Dean’s skin had it ready to rebel. “Right around the time I heard shit going down inside the church, this lanky-ass motherfucker comes outta nowhere and gets super familiar. Puts me on pause like that British asshole did earlier and gets all up in my business.” She wrinkled her nose, fighting off a shudder. It took a lot to creep her out, but something about that guy had done it. “Knew who I was, too. Said he’d wanted to meet me, that he was surprised I went up and not down and—”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean sat forward so rapidly she was fucking thankful she had yet to pierce his skin. He seized her chin with his good hand and jerked her head so their eyes met. “He didn’t hurt you? Touch you?”

“How many times do I gotta say it?” She jerked her chin free. “I ain’t hurt. He touched my face like a creeper but that was about it. He knew you, too. Didn’t seem to be a big fan but your friend from earlier—”

“Faith, that was Lucifer.”

She blinked and sat back on her legs. “Excuse me?”

“That was Lucifer. Shit.” Dean lurched forward, dropping his forehead against the palm of his uninjured arm.

The words made sense in that she understood them but not much beyond that. Faith sat still for a moment, aware that her heart was pounding and her ears were ringing. It was one thing to be ogled by demons—honestly, she was used to it—but for the actual devil to be into her? God, what sort of person did that make her?

_You got into Heaven,_ she reminded herself, drawing in a fortifying breath and leaning over Dean’s injured arm again. _And Chuck or whoever he was called you by name, so it wasn’t like he thought you were someone else._

Faith shook her head and forced herself to refocus on the task at hand, puncturing the skin at Dean’s arm with the needle and managing not to jump when he did.

“Jesus,” Dean snapped, reeling back. “A little warning!”

God, maybe she should just clock him and do it while he was unconscious. “Dean,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’m about to stick a giant-ass needle threaded with fucking dental floss into your arm. Consider yourself warned.”

This he ignored, though he winced and hissed when she started working in earnest. “What all did Lucifer say to you?”

“That was about all of it. He’d always wanted to meet a slayer—well, me in particular. Oh, and that I’m hot shit with bad taste in dick.”

“Fucker’s just jealous,” Dean muttered. “I’m Michael’s true vessel, you know, and Lucy has all kinds of big brother issues.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“Just…keep sewing, woman. And tell me what else he said.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re even more of an asshole when you’re hurt?” Still, Faith pulled him closer. She was grateful to see the process of sewing him up went quick once the initial hurdle was behind her. “That his minions were gonna kill you, basic bad guy blowhard junk.” She finished tending the wound with a sigh. “I’ll go get scissors. How’s that?”

Dean stared at her for a moment before glancing down. “Good,” he said, his voice clipped. She couldn’t tell if he was angry with Lucifer for talking to her or her for being targeted by Lucifer, though if it was that second thing, he could kiss her ass.

She seized the scissors out of the kit and marched back to where he sat. She tied off the floss, snipped it, rubbed some antiseptic cream over the area just to be safe, then applied the bandage.

“There you are, Ducky. Good as new.”

Dean seemed to stir out of himself at that. “You’re a fucking pro,” he muttered, studying his new dressing.

“Unlike some people in this room, I am a fast learner.”

He looked up, blinking. Then, as though his previous tension had been a figment of her imagination, broke out into his flirtiest smile. “Most nurses give stickers to their patients,” he said. “The best ones, anyway.”

“Sorry. Fresh out of stickers.”

“That’s okay.” He trailed his eyes down her body. “Lemme see the new ink on your ass and we’ll call it even.” He met her eyes again. “Pretty please, Nurse Faith?”

Faith snorted, though she couldn’t deny being relieved to be back on more familiar footing. Flirty Dean she could handle with ease. At least she knew what this version was thinking. So she rose to her feet and kicked off her shoes, then undid the clasp of her pants. She turned, sliding the material down until her ass was exposed.

Dean released a heavy breath. “Fuck. I have never before found this thing sexy.” He brushed his fingertips over the skin surrounding the mark. “Not sure how I feel about this.”

Faith smirked and turned back around, then laughed outright at the exaggerated pout on his lips. “Oh, poor Ducky,” she said…right before her gaze dropped to the tenting towel over his crotch. “Poor…horny Ducky. And here I thought it was only vamps and slayers that got off on pain. You sure you're human?”

Dean followed her eyes, then snorted himself. “I have a kink for role play. What can I say? Naughty nurse is a favorite.”

Oh, was that right? Faith glanced to the door. No headlights around the blinds. No running motor. No sound of a car door opening or closing. Maybe they had enough time before dinner arrived…

“Naughty nurse?” she replied, turning back to him. “The kind that sucks the venom out of your snake bite?”

Dean’s throat worked, the look on his face now a mixture of disbelieving, hopeful, and turned on. His dick responded by swelling up further so it was nearly pointed due north. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Something like that.”

Faith held his gaze for a moment, then allowed her lips to stretch into a saucy smirk. “That is an awfully bad snake bite, Mr. Winchester,” she said, dropping to her knees in front of him. This wasn’t like anything she’d ever done before, but hell if the look on his face didn’t make it worth it a thousand times over.

She was used to men looking at her like they wanted to devour her alive—came with the territory—but there was something else in Dean’s eyes. Plenty of heat, yes, but that wasn’t all. It wasn’t even most of it. More like he legitimately couldn’t believe she was going along with it and was afraid she’d vanish if he blinked.

Faith grinned and leaned over, dragging the towel off his lap and grinned when his cock sprang toward her. She wrapped her hand around the base and gave it a good squeeze, and Dean let out a moan that went straight to her clit.

“Be a good patient for me now.”

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She snickered, then drew a circle around the head of his cock with her tongue. “Well, it looks like I got here just in time.”

“Shit. _Shit_, Faith.”

Fixing her eyes on his, she slowly worked him into her mouth. A long, trembling breath rattled through his body and he just looked at her, watched, as she pulled back and down again. After a few seconds, she released him with a wet plop. “This is an experimental treatment,” she told him straight-faced. “Not sure if it’ll save your life but I’m willing to give it a try.”

Dean nodded hard, his breath hitching. He funneled his fingers through her hair. “Worst comes to worst, I’ll die happy.”

Faith grinned wider and tongued the underside of his cock. “All right, then,” she said, lips lingering at the head. “Guess I better suck the poison out.”

She closed her mouth around him, her heart leaping when he hissed her name, and again when she felt him tighten the grip he had on her hair. Truth be told, Faith wasn’t a big lover of blowjobs. Well, giving them. After she’d become sexually confident, she’d stopped offering to most guys unless they were good to do her at the same time—reciprocal and mutual. But there was something about putting her mouth on Dean that had her blood heating. The way he looked at her, the sounds he made, how he smelled—all of it that was singular to him. She truly couldn’t imagine doing something this with anyone else of her own volition and enjoying herself. But Dean made it impossible to _not_ enjoy herself.

She took her time, bobbed her head, savored the sensation of him sliding against her tongue, drawing him in far enough to hit the back of her throat, then pulling back again. Dean’s breathing became more labored, intense, and his eyes never left hers. There was that, too. He kept watching her as though trying to convince himself this was really happening, which was heady as fuck, because she knew he had a reputation for not being choosy when it came to partners—same as she did. That she could put that look on his face while doing something rather basic… Well, it made her think that maybe this much was just hers.

“Faith…shit. Shit, I’m—”

Faith abruptly released him from her mouth, sat back and pulled off her top and her bra in one swipe. Then she closed her lips around him again, tonguing the head of his cock, the dip there at the tip, stroking him hard with her free hand. And when she felt him tense, she pulled back and watched as white ropes of semen splattered across her breasts.

“Holy…fuck.” Dean was panting, that strange glow still in his eyes. “Faith.”

She just gave him a smile and rose to her feet with a dancer’s grace. It wasn’t until she made to head to the bathroom that he spoke again.

“Where…are you going?” He pawed weakly at her ass. “Get back here. Pants off.”

“Nah, I think that’s enough excitement for my ducky tonight.” Faith flicked on the light over the sink, took a moment to admire the strikes of cum on her tits, then wetted a fresh washcloth to clean herself off. “We want that arm to heal up.”

“Babe, I got a free hand and a mouth. You won’t hurt me.”

“Good to know.” She turned back around, kicked off her pants and watched Dean’s eyes go wide. “But I got two good hands if I need to take care of anything. And I’m good. I’m the only person who’s ever gotten me off one-hundred percent of the time.”

“Now I know that’s a goddamned lie. If I didn’t make you come each time, you’d punish me.”

“True. Guess I should say, scores are tallied at the end of the run. We’re still in it.”

Dean snickered. “All scores but your own.”

“Of course,” she said, slipping one of Dean’s tees over her head. “The judge is biased.”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of a knock at the door. “Anyone order pizza?”

Hell, she’d forgotten about that. She turned to aim a smirk at Dean, grabbed a pair of sweats from his bag and hopped into them as she made her way to the door.

“Ah, good,” she said. “My meat has arrived. Better put that towel back where it was, Ducky, unless you want the delivery guy to think we’re making naughty films in here.”

Dean glanced down, snickered, and grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed. It wasn’t much, but it’d keep the delivery guy from getting the full eye-full.

And though it was likely nothing the dude hadn’t seen a dozen times, Faith made sure to tip generously.

*~*~*

In all honesty, Dawn was pissed more at herself than at Spike. Because, well, Spike being an ass and getting all up in her love life was just a thing Spike did. He’d been insufferable when she’d first started dating—insistent on taking all potential suitors into a dark room so he could flash some fang and essentially do whatever he could to make them piss themselves. It had only been after Dawn had pleaded with Buffy to find this behavior annoying and not cute that her big sister had stepped in…only to then lose her shit because Dawn had been dumb enough to write down the wrong time for her date and had made a big to-do about being stood up.

Spike’s response to her complaints had been to shrug and say that any decent wanker wouldn’t be scared off quite so easily and he was just helping her see that none of those blokes were worthy of her time. If they couldn’t take a few not-so-veiled death threats, then they definitely couldn’t handle dating the Slayer’s sister, who just so happened to also be a mystical Key.

That had made an annoying amount of sense, though Dawn had never admitted it.

So Spike threatening Sam was just par for the course, and Dawn should have realized the second she started flaunting her stuff that her brother-in-law would take it upon himself to scare the man away. The fact that Sam hunted demons for a living didn’t earn him any points in vampire logic—if anything, Spike would put him through even more tests to see if he wimped out or decided Dawn wasn’t worth it.

And considering it had taken literally flashing panties at Sam—never mind the fact that they weren’t hers—to get him to admit he had a thing for her, Dawn didn’t love her odds. Not that Sam was necessarily afraid of Spike, because she doubted he was, but that he’d see the vampire as another obstacle.

When Buffy came into Rosa Lee’s an hour or so following Spike’s performance for his worst-timing-ever award, Dawn all but flagged her sister down.

“Bloody Mary?” she asked with a bright I’m-so-innocent smile the second Buffy walked up.

“Who’s the blood from this time?”

“Pretty sure an actual cow named Mary.”

“Then sure.” Buffy situated herself on the stool across the bar. “So…what’s up?”

“What?”

“Well, Spike came back to patrol with a beer and a grin. The beer was self-explanatory, but he was oddly quiet about what put him in such a good mood.”

Dawn sighed, mixing the drink. “Sam asked me out. Kind of. We were on the way to major sparkage when your stupid undead boyfriend—”

“Ah.” Buffy smirked. “I see.”

“Buffy! I really like him.” And god, didn’t that make her sound like the hormonal teenager.

“Judging by your slutwear, yeah. Points to the obvious.”

Dawn glanced down at herself. Unlike her sister, she had been blessed in the boob department and this tube top did all kinds of good stuff for the girls. Probably another reason Spike had been so obnoxious. For a guy who literally ripped panties off his mate everywhere he went, he was oddly Victorian about how much skin those girls he considered under his protection showed. But hell, he’d gotten over Hunter and Rosalie, and Rosalie was seven damn years younger than she was. At least there was no chance Sam could be arrested if they ever did the naked tango.

“Things are happening,” Dawn said in a low, steady voice. “And come on, Buff. Of anyone I’ve ever liked, Sam is the best. He’s practically a boy scout.”

Buffy snickered. “That’s actually why Faith said she wouldn’t hook up with him.”

The thought of Faith putting her sluttastic hands anywhere near Sam made Dawn wish she could trigger her Key power. “He wouldn’t with her anyway,” she snapped, though she didn’t quite believe this. If the reason Sam had been so reluctant to pursue whatever was between the two of them was his stupid belief that Dawn was too good for him, then yeah, she could see him being okay with Faith.

“Well, not now,” Buffy agreed. “I think there’s a code between brothers. If there’s not, there should be.”

“Like there was a code between vampires from the same family?”

“Uhh, hell to the no. And stop trying to deflect.” Buffy leaned forward and grabbed the drink Dawn had just finished making. “Put this on Spike’s tab.”

“You mean don’t charge you.”

“Well, Nick did say that slayers drink free and I haven’t heard him walk that back, so cheers.” She lifted her glass and took a healthy swallow. “Look, Sam is pretty much the best of the best, as far as I’m concerned. You could and have done a lot worse.”

“So tell Spike to back off.”

Buffy looked like she was fighting off a grin. “He loves you. He just wants to make sure whoever you end up with deserves you.”

“By trying to scare them away?” Though Dawn already knew the answer, having just mulled this over.

“If they’re easy to scare, they don’t deserve you. Especially someone like Sam who already knows about the real world and is capable of taking care of himself.”

“You know what you are?”

“Of no help whatsoever?”

“Among other things,” Dawn agreed.

Buffy shrugged and lifted her glass. “It’s what big sisters are for. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I have a vampire to find.” She slid off her seat and disappeared into the growing throng of demons crowding the place, making an intuitive beeline toward where Spike was currently bilking a bunch of clueless demons out of their probably stolen money.

Stupid vampires.

“Stupid vampires,” she muttered.

“Fight with big sis?”

Dawn looked up, her heart doing that leapy thing it had a tendency to do when Sam was in proximity. He flashed her his most disarming smile and she felt herself start to melt.

Dammit, if Spike messed this up for her, she was going to stake him. Repeatedly. The ring would keep him alive, but that would have to get annoying after a while.

“Spike has corrupted her,” Dawn replied bluntly. “She seems to think his hassling you is a good thing.”

Sam frowned and tossed a look over his shoulder as if to verify they were talking about the same Buffy. “Huh,” he said, looking a bit dejected. “And here I thought she liked me.”

“She does. That’s why she wants you to keep being harassed.”

The frown deepened. “This is some twisted older sibling logic that normal people like you and me will never understand, isn’t it?”

“Definitely. The point of it being, if you let yourself be scared off by Spike, you are unworthy of the awesomeness that is me. He’s essentially hazing you.”

Sam seemed to consider this and, to her delight, the longer he did, the more the frown marring his pretty face lessened.

“Spike didn’t count on something,” he said a moment later, leaning forward with a downright flirty grin.

Dawn’s heart did a fluttery thing and all her nerves sprang to life. She wanted to get laid. Big time. And from the look on Sam’s face, he was more than up for the job. “What’s that?”

“Dean Winchester is my big brother. So whatever he has in mind, I’m prepared.”

*~*~*

It was kinda heady, the fact that she could stuff her face like she was training up for some kind of competitive eating shindig and Dean still looked at her like she was the thing that needed to be devoured. Of course, that might have been the residual high from the blowjob.

They polished off the pizza in a cool twenty minutes, both starved by that point. Dean’s earlier tummy ache had broken at some point, though she imagined it’d be back if the looks he aimed the remainder of the pie were any indication. They’d taken turns washing down the meat explosion with swigs of whiskey, not talking much but somehow still saying a lot. And yeah, that had her scared too.

Scared for a whole host of reasons.

After the food was gone, she decided to curb any more serious contemplation by calling it a night. They had churches to hit tomorrow and her ducky needed his rest. Poor guy didn’t have the luxury of slayer healing—had that cut been on her, it would have looked a few days old by now.

Dean seemed to be of the same mind. He did his business in the bathroom, then crawled into bed.

Faith kicked her legs back up on the table and settled into the chair, waiting for him to turn off the light. It wasn’t the most comfortable place she’d slept, but she’d definitely had worse, so this beggar was not gonna be choosy tonight.

After a few minutes, though, Dean broke the silence. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to turn off the light and pass out.”

“Why are you over there?”

Faith peeked an eye open, scowling. “Uhh, your arm.”

“Are you planning on slicing it open again or something?”

“I can be a hard sleeper, Ducky. And by hard, I mean violent.” Though she hadn’t had any nightmares since she and Dean had started sharing a bed—something she decided not to tell him. “You’ve caught a break so far, but tonight ain’t the night to test it. I’ll be fine over here. More comfortable than my jail cell was and that’s good enough for me.”

Dean studied her for a long, quiet moment. And she thought that’d be the end of it.

“You’re gonna be one cranky jerk tomorrow,” he said. “And we got a lot of shit to cover. I’ll take my chances. You hit me and I’ll hit you back.”

“Yeah and I’ll probably put you through the wall.”

“Well, it’ll give you a reason to play nurse again.”

Faith smirked at that, lowering her feet to the ground. “You’re gonna try to get me to hurt you now, aren’t you?”

“Umm, hell yes.”

She shook her head, snickering, and made her way over to the bed. “Freaky duck,” she muttered, sliding under the covers.

“Clever duck,” he fired back.

“Whatever,” she said, on her side now, her back to him. “Just turn off the light.”

He didn’t for a long beat, and she would have sworn she felt his eyes on her back. The air grew thick, like he wanted to say something, but ultimately he didn’t. The moment passed; he let out a long breath, there was a click, and the room plunged into darkness.


	29. Chapter 29

Sam was drunk.

Way too drunk to being making important life decisions. Important decisions like having sex with the woman he’d been crushing for the last few months.

He hung around the bar until closing, continuing to imbibe more whiskey and beers. Much too much to make it home on his own. But that had been part of his plan.

Nick released Dawn from duty after the doors were shut. Sam and Dawn had been sharing enough heated glances through the night to send up smoke signals to anyone who had eyes. She politely volunteered to drive him and his truck home after she tossed her apron aside and stuffed her tips in her purse. 

And then they started making out the moment they were alone in the cab.

“Oh holy nightlight,” Dawn gasped the first time they came up for air.

“Dawnie, I want,” he responded between panting breaths. “You. Just you.”

Their mouths joined back together and their hands began to wonder over and then inside various articles of clothing. Dawn looked around the empty lot and had the sense to move away from the bar. Somewhere between the bar and the bunker, she turned off on a county road before making a few turns down some dirt and gravel paths.

It sounded like a bad country song. He found love in the back of his pickup truck, under the stars, in a farmer’s field. It was pretty funny how simplistic it was considering who they were and how very complicated everything was in their lives.

But it was perfect. Even drunk he could realize it. Maybe Dawn was the Key. The Key to his heart.

“Oh my God,” Dawn snickered as they laid there naked in the back of the truck, her body pressed to his as the night breeze caressed their skin. “That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I’m a little drunk right now,” he giggled.

She pulled herself back from his embrace to try and make eye contact in the moonlight. “Were you too drunk for this, Sam? Did I just take advantage of you?”

“No,” he said before pulling her down for a kiss. “And I promise to be sober next time.”

“You are already planning a next time?”

“Dawnie, don’t smartass me into a dumbass.”

She chuckled and snuggled closer. “I want a next time, Sam.”

“Good.”

Everything was a fuzzy blur of happiness from the time he hopped in the truck with Dawn at Rosa Lee’s until they slipped into their separate rooms in the bunker nearing sunrise.

It was pretty much a scene written for a romance movie.

Except for one little part. The part where he slipped her panties in his pocket as they got dressed. Dawn assumed they’d fallen into the rows of corn that surrounded them while they scrambled to undress. She’d told him that she didn’t care enough to go crawling around in the dark without any pants on. Sam just smiled.

Because he had a plan. A little bit of payback and a word of warning to a certain blond vampire that he wouldn’t scare so easily.

When they hit the parking garage, he noted that Spike’s car window was rolled down. When Dawn turned to open the door, Sam grabbed the wad of fabric from his pocket and launched her panties into the Oldsmobile.

He giggled until Dawn kissed him breathless before they went in their separate rooms. He fell asleep with a mind full of Dawn Summers: Key to his Heart.

He woke up to Spike Pratt: Key to his Suffocation.

Perhaps he had made a poor life choice provoking a soulless vampire about his baby sister.

*~*~*

Dean bolted up in the bed and scrambled for his gun.

“_Watergate does not bother me. Does your conscience bother you?”_

“The fuck!” he gasped, aiming his gun around the room.

Faith too had sat up, dazed and confused.

_“Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue.”_

Reality hit him when he saw the flashing alarm clock by the bed. Some motherfucker here yesterday had woken up at 7am.

_“Sweet home Alabama, I’m coming home to you.”_

He slammed the clock with the butt of his pistol, likely breaking the damn thing, but Dean didn’t really care. Tossing the gun on the nightstand, he braced his hands on his knees.

Faith grunted and he felt her flop back on her pillow.

“I agree,” he muttered in a thick, sleepy voice. While they’d turned in earlier than ever, he felt more exhausted than he had since the night he’d first seen Faith ganking vamps in that cemetery.

Lucifer. The fucking devil had been running through his nightmares for nearly a decade now. And now he’s got not only _another_ plan for fucking up the world, but he had a taste for his Slayer.

One day. One fucking day without crazy witches or nasty Krakens or pervy demons of fucking biblical super-villains. Why couldn’t he have been an ice cream inspector or a roller coaster tester? Something _fun._

“Hey,” he heard before his felt Faith’s hand on his back. “How’s the arm?”

He gave it a look. The bandage was pink with blood, but he knew the stitches had held up. “You found a new talent. If not nursing, you could be Buffalo Bill’s understudy.”

Her fingers trailed a path downward until she pinched his exposed butt cheek. “So what’s the plan, man?”

He sighed. What he wanted to do was run the fuck away. That wasn’t really an option. “I guess we get dressed and start hitting these other churches on the list. Demons aren’t afraid of daylight and now that Lucifer knows we’re in town, we don’t really got any options but to get this salt before he does.”

“You really know how to sweet talk the ladies, Ducky.”

He really wanted to pretend like everything was fine and good, but it really wasn’t. And the more he thought about how bad this could go, the more nervous he got. And the more nervous he got, the angrier he started to get at himself for letting the devil get under his skin. And somewhere in there was a whole other circle of shit about being worried about Faith, but annoyed about it and too proud to want to show her how worried and nervous and just fucked up he really was.

With a grunt of self-loathing, he stood from the bed and walked his naked ass over to his bag. He didn’t really see the point of putting the suits back on, but at the same time knew that it may be easier. Unless instead of playing the authority angle, they’d play potential parishioners. That would give them better access to their weapons as well as not having to worry about washing Faith’s jacket. He sure had popped his top on her yesterday twice…

“This isn’t going to work,” Faith said hotly.

Dean stopped in his thoughts and whipped around, underwear in his hand. “We don’t have time for nookie this morning.”

She chucked a pillow at him. He let it hit his chest and fall to the floor. “It wasn’t my fucking fault!” she snapped. “I didn’t tell him about me or you or what the fuck we were doing here!”

He took a deep breath. “I never said you—”

“So he asked if I was Ro or B. Bunny, actually. All I said was no. What the fuck was I supposed to say, Winchester? He knew who the fuck I was and he even knew where I came from. You can’t blame me for any of this because I was frozen like a fucking doll!”

“I’m not—”

She hopped up out of bed and came marching at him. “And last night I played your fucking naughty nurse fantasy. I stitched your sorry ass up even though it was fucking _gross_. And I watched you as I sucked your dick and you loved every fucking minute of it!”

“Faith—”

“So don’t be pissed at me. Don’t you fucking dare!”

That was it. Tossing down his boxer briefs, he reached out with both arms and hauled her body up against his before slamming his mouth against her lips. His injury whined in protest, but fuck if he cared as he grasped her nape and drove his tongue inside her mouth. She resisted for more seconds than he would have liked, but eventually he felt the tension leave her muscles as she wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss.

But it wasn’t going to be enough. Not today. She wasn’t going to let a look or a gesture make his argument. As she pushed her hands against his chest, she broke the kiss and took a step back, the fire burning still in her eyes.

“I’m not mad,” he said in a small voice. “I’m scared,” he nearly choked.

They stood there in silence for several moments before Faith whispered, “I am too.”

He bit his lip, contemplating the idea of throwing her down on the bed and just fucking her until they both forgot confessions and Lucifer and this whole crazy mess. Either that or hauling her over his shoulder and hightailing it to the Impala to run away, underwear be damned. Neither one of those seemed like viable options.

“Well, this is awkward,” Faith said with a shadow of a smile.

He couldn’t help the nervous bubble of laughter that escaped him. “Try doing it naked.”

She snickered at that. “I think if I stripped down now we’d just end up having sex.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“So, we’re good?” He saw her flinch slightly as she tried to go for casual. “I mean about what I said to him. You aren’t mad?”

He shook his head. “No.” Then he smirked. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“I’m pretty sure we both can agree the best parts of yours most certainly do.” She knelt down and picked up his underwear, tossing it up his direction. “Come on, Ducky. Let’s go save the world. Again.”

“Or die trying. Again.”

*~*~*

Rosalie had been coming to taunt Sam for being late for their morning jog. Nick had come home snickering about her watcher finding a new girl to “watch” last night at the bar. He’d wagered her a trip to the movies that Sam and Dawn had “gone down to Pound Town” last night. Considering the scene she found when she looked inside the doorway to her watcher’s room, she begrudgingly had to settle for another date night in the bunker.

That said, she also had to stop Spike before he killed her watcher. “Goddammit,” she growled as she bounded over to the bed. Spike had Sam pinned between his thighs and was sitting atop the larger man, throwing one punch after another.

“Gonna fuckin’ rip every piece off, boy,” Spike snarled. “Starting with your little knob.”

Whoa. She didn’t really want to tangle with an actually angry slayer killer, but murder wasn’t something she could sit around and let go down. Channeling her inner mojo, she grasped Spike by the shoulders and pulled him back. She may have been a bit too with the Slayer juice as he went flying into Sam’s dresser, wood splintering as he crashed.

Spike instinctively growled, jumping up in a flash, but the yellow in his eyes dimmed as the man behind the demon recognized her. “Stay back, Bite Size. This isn’t your fight.”

She cast a weary look at Sam bleeding on the bed, crumpled up in a broken ball. “Doesn’t look like a fight at all. What the fuck, dude?”

The commotion had obviously disturbed everyone else within the bunker. Rosalie noticed with a glance that Buffy, Nick, Dawn and… “Mary?”

“Yeah. I can see what Rupert meant about leaving you children unattended.” Mary flashed a dark look at Spike before pushing past the other spectators and entering the room. “Make sure to attack me, William, before you start again on my son.”

“Your son? Your son…” Spike roared.

“Hey!” Buffy snapped. “What the hell happened? You said you were stepping out for a smoke.”

When Spike spotted his mate, he calmed enough to shift his bumpies back to his more adorable self. He was definitely still mad though, so Rose kept her guard up. “This”—he gestured toward the bed—“wanker threw Bit’s knickers—her dirty, dirty knickers—into my car.”

“Oh. My. God.” Rosalie heard the mortification in Dawn’s voice without looking over Buffy’s shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned. “Oh my _god_, I did that.” He tried to pull himself up, but collapsed on the bed, covering his face with his arm. “Oh god, Dawn. Kill me.”

“Don’t you worry,” Spike spat. “I can finish the job.”

“Stop,” Buffy said, Rosalie noting there was definitely a hint of bemusement in her voice. “Dawn gets first dibs on the murder act right now.” She arched a brow to her mate. “Big brother duty is successfully completed. Come on.”

While he let Buffy take him by the hand and out of the room, everyone heard him tell Dawn, “One word and I’ll tear his pecker off. I’ll even let you watch.”

Rosalie looked up to see Nick looking at her, his eyes full of laughter. “Pity mate,” he said casting a brief glance to Sam. “I really liked you, Winchester.”

“Go away,” Mary admonished sternly.

The amusement died in Nick’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied before turning away.

Rosalie had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling. Her boyfriend was an adorable pushover. Instead she focused on Dawn, who had looked too horrified to yet run away. “Don’t kill him until I find a new watcher, D. I’m really running low on options. Honestly, I think my next one would be Dean and I don’t think I could handle another one of Faith’s fuck buddies as my guiding star.”

“Nobody is killing Sam,” Mary said. “At least not until after the meeting we are setting up.”

“What?” Sam croaked. He still hadn’t uncovered his eyes.

“I need you alive. At least long enough to call Ketch here.”

“No.” Rosalie heard Sam and Dawn echo her reply in unison.

“Rupert believes the Men of Letters have hidden the information about the Hellmouth somewhere inside the bunker. Without busting into the walls, he’s our best option.” She gave an apologetic look to Dawn. “Once we decipher anything we find, I’ll hold him down while you strangle him.”

Sam lifted his arm enough to peek through with a blackened eye. “Dawn, I’m so sorry.”

Mary sighed. “Yeah, Samuel. I would have expected something so crass from Dean, not you.”

“Oh god,” Sam whimpered. “I’m Dean.” He made a noise of disgust. “I’m killing myself.”

“Not until after the meeting,” Mary said. “Now get up, panty thief. We have work to do.”


	30. Chapter 30

Sabrina fought to keep her smile in place, certain she’d heard wrong.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

Toadmore favored her with a bored look that all but screamed she wasn’t worth his time. “Willow Rosenberg has been acquired as an asset of Wolfram and Hart,” he said, over enunciating each word like she was a child. “Which means she is officially no longer our problem.”

“How is she an asset?”

“Wolfram and Hart have an interest in some land in Kansas. Willow has teamed up with one of the senior partners to aid in the acquisition. Her brand of magic”—this he said with an expression that suggested he’d smelled something foul—“is reportedly a better fit for them than ours for this particular task. And good riddance, so say we all. Wolfram and Hart can keep her contained.”

Okay, so she hadn’t heard wrong.

Just a few short weeks ago, this news would have been a relief to her as well. A major relief. Anytime Wolfram and Hart were able to assume the burden of maintaining the International Statute of Secrecy meant cutting back on red tape and returning to business as normal.

That had been before she’d met Wesley. Before she’d learned what Wolfram and Hart had offered him to exact revenge and what they had attempted to do to the Wright family.

That had been before she’d learned the law firm was staffed with people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill children to get what they wanted. Before she’d started questioning her own loyalty to the organization to which she had dedicated her life.

“That is…terrific news,” she said brightly, hoping he couldn’t hear how hard her heart was hammering. She began backtracking out of Toadmore’s office, never taking her gaze off him. “Then the Golden Trio”—this she said with an eyeroll as was expected—“and Percy Weasley may return to England.”

“Merlin willing,” Toadmore muttered, having already shifted his attention back to his desk. “Thank you, Ms. Deanne. You may see yourself out.”

The second Sabrina was out of his line of vision, she started sprinting down the hall toward the exit. She had no thought except to get outside. Get to where she could pull out her cellphone and blend with the NoMajes. Call Wesley.

Then she remembered she was a witch and could Apparate. Which did with a loud _crack._ When she opened her eyes, she was confined with the walls of her apartment and let out the first free breath she’d taken since Toadmore had called her into his office.

Only this place wasn’t exactly safe either, was it? Government property, purchased through the real estate division of Wolfram and Hart.

God, was there nowhere?

Then she thought of Caritas and was flooded with actual relief.

The second she was inside the bar, within its sanctuary spell, she jerked her phone out of her pocket and tapped Wesley’s name.

He answered on the first ring.

“They have Willow,” she blurted inelegantly.

“What? Who? Are you hurt?”

“Wolfram and Hart,” she said, and only then realized she was shaking from head to foot. “Toadmore confirmed that Willow is no longer a MACUSA problem, that she is working with one of the _senior partners _to help with a matter in Kansas.”

Wesley released a string of curse words that turned her blood hot for all the wrong reasons. “If Wolfram and Hart is involved—”

“I know. _I know_.”

He was quiet for a moment, but it was a loud quiet. A quiet she could tell he was using to think. Then, after a beat, he said slowly, “Sabrina…I need to know how you feel about MACUSA at the moment.”

So did she. Sabrina managed nothing more than a harsh laugh, her eyes stinging with tears. “Why?”

“Because we need to know how deeply their ties to Wolfram and Hart run. The way I imagine it, MACUSA believes that they are the authority in this relationship, being that they govern the magical population…but I suspect it is the other way around. Wolfram and Hart is a much older, ancient branch of evil. They would be in no position to dictate terms to the government if they did not have the upper hand.” A long breath whispered through the phone. “Sabrina, can you access the contract with Wolfram and Hart?”

“I’m not an archivist.” Plus she had no goddamned idea how to go about it. Espionage against her government was something she’d never thought to once consider, let alone do. “And I have no idea what I’m looking for.”

“Are there others within the organization who could help you?”

No one. All toed the line regurgitated by the government officials. She knew of no one who had any sort of access breaking into a government building.

Then she thought of something. Someone. Three someones, in fact. And despite everything, she started to laugh.

“Sabrina?”

“I have no experience breaking into government buildings,” Sabrina told him. “None whatsoever. But…there are three people in Los Angeles who do.”

There was a beat. “You’re going to approach Harry Potter.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No. Actually, I think that’s rather brilliant.”

“Well, let’s hope he agrees,” Sabrina said. “Wes, I need to call Josh Lyman. Let him know what’s going on with Willow. I’m not sure if he can get the NoMaj governor to do anything to help—if there is anything they can do to help…but I am open to suggestions.”

“I rather doubt Sam Seaborn will be open to talking with you given that you intend to kill Willow Rosenberg. No matter what happened there, she is the mother of his child.”

Sabrina pressed her lips together, nodded. Only Wes wasn’t here to see that. “Perhaps we don’t need to kill her. She is obviously contained at the moment. The threat I thought she posed might not exist.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So do I.”

Particularly since she was going to ask Josh Lyman for an audience with the governor. And then reach out to the Golden Trio to beg their assistance in doing the impossible.

*~*~*

Oh, how so much could go to shit in just twenty-four hours.

At least the numb stage was behind her, along with the mortification. Dawn knew this was the exaggeration of her brain, but she felt like she’d been an awkward teenager for roughly twelve thousand years. And she’d always been the Slayer’s pesky kid sister, the girl who got herself kidnapped every other week and in general made life not so much fun for everyone. When Buffy had been turned, the dynamic had changed, though not as much as she would have thought. After Willow had nearly wiped out half of Europe—and everyone was under the memory modification—things had been more or less normal at good ole Sunnydale. Buffy and Spike had split their focus between the Hellmouth and Los Angeles due to the new friendships they’d forged, and the Scoobies had somewhat dismantled. Xander and Anya off doing their own thing, Giles moving wherever he was closest to Buffy, and Dawn in the periphery until she’d been old enough to ship off to college. It was only there, among others her own age, that she’d started to feel more or less like an actual person than a thing created by a bunch of monks.

Perhaps that was why her initial instinct had been to cut her losses and get out of Dodge when people started coupling off. Because what inevitably happened whenever she was around Buffy—and Dawn _loved _Buffy with everything she was—but she became the punchline. The girl who needed rescuing. Never mind that she’d been rescuing herself and doing a damn fine job of it for years now, but even the guy she thought might be The Guy had turned her into a joke. He’d taken something that had meant a lot to her and managed to undermine the confidence that had taken years to build. And now here she was.

Part of her kind of wished Spike had succeeded in taking Sam’s head off. She and Spike shared this sort of thing, she supposed. He’d spent his human life the laughing stock of his peers, and when he took someone under his protection, he fucking meant it.

A knock sounded at her door and she tensed. Dawn might not have vamp sense of smell, but she still somehow knew the person on the other side was Sam. What she didn’t know was whether or not she wanted to talk to him, now or ever again.

There was a beat, then another knock. Then, “Dawn…can we talk, please?”

Dawn blinked at the ceiling, having not moved once since retreating to her bedroom while Sam made the call to Ketch. She’d hoped that the meeting Mary had insisted on would be an immediate thing, but if Sam thought they had time to squeeze in a heart-to-heart, that likely meant they had at least an hour.

Just enough time to complete her humiliation.

“Dawn?” There was a thunk against the door. She imagined him hitting it with his forehead. “Dawn, I am so sorry.”

Well, that just pissed her off. And hey, anger was better than mortified. With a surge of energy, Dawn bounded to her feet, closed the space between her and the door, and threw the thing open.

“You’re _sorry_?” she snapped, allowing herself a moment to take in the sight of him. He had two black eyes, a swollen cheek, and his lip was split. A lip she’d spent a good amount of time sucking on the night before, among other things. _Ugh_, she was such an _idiot_. “What are you sorry for, Sam? Fucking me or fucking me over?”

“Dawnie—”

“No. You don’t get to _Dawnie _me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? How cheap you made me feel? Spike once let himself get the stuffing tortured out of him to protect me from a hellgod. Did you know that?”

Sam shook his head, working his throat. “No.”

“She thought Spike was the Key, because he and Buffy were mates by that point and _always _together. So she kidnapped him, tortured him to near dust, and he let her. The soulless guy. Yeah, he’s overprotective, but he’s my _brother_. He’s supposed to be overprotective. And after last night, I say, good for him. Maybe his way of going about scaring off everything with a penis is actually effective.” Dawn whirled around and kicked the wall beside the door, tears stinging her eyes. “I _liked _you. I liked you so much and idiot that I am, I told you. And here’s the kicker, I thought you liked me too! That you were cute and bumbly and had no idea how to act around me, and somehow that translates into taking something private and taunting a guy who took a beating from a _hellgod _to protect me with the knowledge that you got some?”

“Dawn,” Sam said, choked. “Dawn, I… You’re right. About everything. I don’t… Whatever that was, between you and me, that was _me_. What happened after was… I dunno. I’m not that person. I have _never _been that person. Not once. Never. And…that I made you feel anything like that is… I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am.”

Yeah, she knew he was sorry. She’d seen it that morning when he’d realized what he’d done—a regret that had nothing to do with the fact that a vampire half his size had mopped the floor with his overly pretty face. She’d seen it in the dozens of looks he’d shot her way, and she saw it now. The horror in his eyes was real, as was the regret. And dammit, she still liked those eyes. And those hands. And that mouth, split lip and all.

Dawn crossed her arms. She’d already proven herself to be a giant moron—might as well go all the way. “Try.”

“Try…”

“To tell me how sorry you are. I want you to try.” She inhaled a deep breath, willing herself to remain composed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Sam looked at her, his expression waning between self-disgust and hope. “I think it’s clear I wasn’t. In my stupid drunk Sam logic, it was… I think I meant it to be a message to Spike that he could try whatever he wanted to scare me off, but it wouldn’t work.”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“Right. Also…Buffy’s underwear in my truck… I thought it was fair.”

Dawn blinked at him. “So your answer to the most humiliating morning after of my life, in which you provoked my family, is you wanted to show them that you wouldn’t be scared off, oh, and gotcha back.”

“My answer to this morning is I am an idiot who is never drinking again.” He closed his eyes. “Dawn… I never in my wildest set out to hurt you. It kills me that I did. Because I am kinda crazy about you and…”

“You are a moron.”

“Yes. Yes I am.” Sam took a step back, a pained look crossing his face—one completely separate from the bruises and cuts there. “And…knowing that I screwed this up before we even got started is going to be one of those things that stays with me. For everything, Dawn, I am sorry.”

He had turned and was moving down the hall. And Dawn realized this was one of those moments—the sort that would either go down in the annals of Dawn Summers history as the time she kicked ass, took names, and stomped down the patriarchy, or took a chance on something with no guarantee that her gamble would pay off. Had she just met Sam, Option A would have been the clear winner. But she hadn’t just met Sam—she’d known Sam for more than two months now, had spent time with him, gone on hunts with him, laughed with him over breakfast, teased him about his hair. The Sam that had humiliated her was incongruent with the guy she knew—the guy she thought she could fall in love with.

And that Sam, sober Sam, was the one walking away now.

She spoke without realizing she’d made a decision, then mentally patted herself on the back, knowing it was the right one. “Sam?”

He stopped but didn’t turn.

“Are you sure you weren’t a virgin?”

There was nothing at this, then he turned and just stared at her.

“Just saying, the whole ‘bragging that you got some’ thing? Total move of the recently deflowered.”

He stood so still, gazing at her unblinking, that she thought she might have actually broken him.

“It’s cool if you were,” she went on, and started down the hallway toward him. “I mean, I’d never been with a virgin before.”

“Dawn—”

“What I’m saying is, if that was a stupid way to tell the world I popped your cherry, I can trust that it will never happen again, as there is no remaining cherry to pop. It’s no longer headline news.”

She watched, and saw the instant her meaning became clear. Saw the lines on his face recede and, while he still looked like he was nursing some heavy self-hatred, there was something else there too.

A hint of a smile.

Sam spread his arms. “You got me. V-card officially punched.”

“Which means…”

“Which means I got the stupid out of me.”

Dawn strolled down the hallway until they were just inches apart, then took his wrist. “You better hope that’s right,” she said, threading her fingers through his and tugging him back to her room. “Because if there’s any stupid left, I will carve it right the fuck out of you.”

“I will deserve it.”

“You already do.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Then, releasing the last of her anger, she gave him a smile and brushed a kiss across his uninjured cheek. “Then let’s see if we can get the swelling to go down before Ketch gets here. And you have to make nice with Spike.”

At that, some of the light dimmed in Sam’s eyes. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I will.”

“I’m worth it.”

“I know you are.” A pause. “Dawnie, really, I—”

“I know. It’s…over,” she said. “The fight. The me being mad at you thing. Let’s just try to make our second fight about something _actually _stupid.”

Sam released a long, shuddering sigh, pressing his eyes closed. “I so don’t deserve you.”

“That is so completely obvious. Now come on and I’ll go get an icepack.”

*~*~*

Faith wasn’t stupid. She knew that Dean Winchester admitting he was scared was a big damn deal, and one he’d likely be kicking himself over for the next few hours unless she did something to diffuse the tension.

Because, hell, Faith had been scared plenty. It wasn’t something she liked to advertise, but she knew from the past that keeping her emotions bottled led to bad things. Things like human men punctured by wooden stakes, or tying up someone and torturing the shit out of them just to push a vampire close enough to the edge that he wouldn’t think twice before doing the decent thing and snapping her neck. Part of prison had been rehabilitation, coming to accept the dark part inside her. Part of her work with the Watchers Council following prison had been the same.

Though they had a list of churches to hit, Faith had made Dean first stop at the local Walmart so she could find something parishioner-appropriate—something they hadn’t considered when they’d done the FBI dress-up thing the day before. He’d been surly about it, but acknowledged after a moment that her normal attire of leather pants and spaghetti-strap camis weren’t going to win her much favor with the locals. She’d promised to make quick work of her shopping and she had. When she rejoined him, she wore a flowery yellow sundress with a white cardigan and white strappy sandal heels. She’d also purchased some hair accessories and the sort of makeup that B used to wear. Soft colors with a major emphasis on the pink.

Dean gawked at her openly as she slid into the Impala.

Faith didn’t acknowledge him, rather lowered the visor and started fixing herself up. After a few minutes passed, during which time he did not start the car, she gave him the side-eye and arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“You look like someone I know, lady, but I think you got in the wrong car.”

She smirked, winked, then dragged the skirt of her dress up her leg so he could see where she had her blade strapped to her thigh. “You sure about that?”

Dean didn’t answer. He was staring at her leg.

“Ducky, you’re the one who said we were on a time table here.”

He snapped back to himself, gave his head a shake, and started the car. “Not my fault you distracted me with the peep show.”

“Not my fault you had to be an ass about the new threads.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Honestly, not sure whether to be impressed, freaked, or turned on right now.”

“Then my work here is done.”

By the time they pulled up to the first church, Faith had succeeded in styling her hair in a more demure fashion—the front half pulled back in a loose pony-tail and the back half resting against her neck. She also had applied sparkly pink lip-gloss and the barest whisper of eye-shadow.

“You’re freaking me out,” Dean said as he exited the car. “You look so…sweet.”

Faith flashed him a grin, bubbly this time, and circled the Impala to take his arm. “Thanks, hon,” she said in overly girlish voice, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Seriously, you’re scaring me.”

“We’re at church,” she said primly. “It’s important to be on your best behavior.”

“Like we were yesterday.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Stop the apocalypse, then screw each other’s brains out.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Yeah. You good girl.”

The streets of the little burb seemed fuller today than they had yesterday, complete with at least three of those oversized tour buses. Faith guessed that something was happening in the city, though she couldn’t much figure why any tourist would hit these particular churches. The crowd seemed to be contained to the cathedral across the street at the moment; all she could do was hope they were gone by the time they were finished touring the Southern Baptist hellhole.

“Let me do the talking,” Faith murmured into Dean’s ear.

“Fuck. No.”

“I’ll be good at this.”

“Babe, love the enthusiasm, but this is too big a thing to fuck up. No taking the reins.”

Faith flicked her eyebrows and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss. “Just watch me.”

“Faith—”

But she was too quick for him, practically exploding into the church, Dean shuffling behind her to keep up.

“Look, it’s not that you’re good at this,” Dean said in a low tone. “Well, it is. That performance at the police station—”

“Bite me, Winchester.”

“Glad to, but first let’s save the world.”

“God’s good grace be with you, friends,” came before she could reply. It was a soft voice, but it carried.

Faith turned in time to see a man strolling down the line of pews. From first glance, she’d peg him as being somewhere in his mid-fifties; he had an affable smile, thinning salt-and-pepper hair, and was dressed in a pair of dress-slacks with a dress-shirt and a tie.

“And with you,” Faith replied, tightening her grip on Dean and flashing her best _trust me _smile. “Are you with the church?”

“I am the pastor here. Name’s Ralph Jameson.” He stuck out his hand, and Faith took it. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes!” Faith said before Dean could intervene. “I’m Janet, and this is my fiancé…” She eyed him. “Brad. We’re new to the area and looking for the perfect church to exchange our vows.”

Ralph smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced between the two of them. “You two live together?”

Dean opened his mouth. Faith beat him to the punch.

“We do, but strictly separate bedrooms until the ceremony.” She patted Dean’s arm. “Brad here was just hired as the Executive Director of Marketing at Waystation Enterprises.”

“Oh! You’re the new guy, huh?” Ralph’s smile was one-hundred percent again. “In from that big time agency in Portland, right?”

Dean was still for a moment, like he’d lost the script. At length, he met Faith’s eyes and nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said. Then beamed a brilliant smile and threw his own arm around Faith’s shoulders. “We’re looking forward to starting a family here.”

“We’re hoping to get hitched real fast,” Faith agreed. “Which puts us in a bit of a pickle.”

“Big wedding,” Dean added.

“Monstrous.”

“How do you feel about glitter? Because we want to substitute glitter for flowers and bird seed as much as possible. Just make the world as sparkly as this little filly has made me.” This he said, squeezing Faith so hard to his side that she wasn’t sure if he was amused or annoyed, but she didn’t care. She was, however, thankful that she’d ended up on his uninjured side, because this would definitely pop his stitches.

“How soon is this wedding?” asked Pastor Ralph.

“May 23rd,” they answered in unison as though it had been rehearsed. Faith almost burst out laughing at that, and it looked like Dean was having the same problem.

Pastor Ralph favored them with a conspiratorial grin and leaned in. “It just so happens we had a cancellation for May 23rd. Divine intervention at work, my children. For you, at least. Not for poor Patrick. But then, we all knew Marie was…one of those.”

Faith gave a perfect mock-gasp, if she did say so herself. “A lesbian?”

“Worse,” Pastor Ralph replied with a shudder. “A…_Mexican_. But Patrick’s loss is your gain. As I said, divine intervention.”

Faith and Dean exchanged a glance. “That has to be it,” Dean said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“We must ask a few questions to be sure you are the right fit for us. I am glad to hear you have taken the appropriate precautions with your current living situation. You see, while we are all sinners in the eyes of God, we cannot condone the marriage of adulterers.”

“Of course not,” Faith said at once. “I’m waiting until marriage, and my Brad is, too.” She tugged on his arm. “Aren’t you, honeypot?”

This time, there was no mistaking it. He was definitely fighting a smile. “You should see her in action,” he added, a tremble to his voice that she hoped to fuck only she heard. “Just last night, she was on her knees in service of the big guy.”

At that, Faith couldn’t help it—a blurb of laughter escaped. She hurried to turn it into a cough. “I do my best to keep the big guy happy. That pretty much means making sure my mouth is always moving.”

Dean turned away, stifling a chuckle into his hand. When he turned back, he looked like he might be in pain. “Just… She teaches me so much about what it means to be a good person, you know. That kind of relationship…with the big guy.”

Thank fuck the holy rollers tended to be dense-ass motherfuckers. Pastor Ralph just kept on smiling at them. “That is certainly wonderful to hear. May your mouth remain in constant motion in service of”—he winked—“‘the big guy.’”

That would have been the death knell in this schtick, Faith was sure of it, had Dean’s phone not gone off and startled him out of what would have undoubtedly been a cover-busting bout of the giggles. Dean looked equal parts relieved and annoyed, but gave her what she supposed was supposed to pass for a loving look. “Sorry, shnookums. It’s my brother.” He looked to Pastor Ralph. “He’s very troubled.”

“Take it,” Faith said with a nod. It might be news about the Hellmouth.

Dean brought the phone to his ear and answered. “You’ve got Brad.”

Faith took the opportunity to turn back to the pastor. “Would you have time to show me around? I’m sure this is the place we’ll want to have the ceremony, but I have a very distinct vision for the photography—”

There was a roar of laughter. Dean had collapsed into the nearest pew, his shoulders shaking. “You threw them…_where_?” He met Faith’s eyes, his own shining with tears. “Sammy and Dawn.”

Faith arched an eyebrow. He nodded, still laughing so hard it looked painful.

“You threw her underwear in Spike’s car, you say!”

Their flimsy cover story was about to go up in smoke. Faith bit the inside of her cheek to keep from busting up. Well, if worst came to worst, she could excuse herself to use the bathroom and get lost on the way back. At least Dean was laughing, though.

Pastor Ralph’s good humor seemed to have faded. His expression now was downright grave. “I’m sorry, who do you say this was?”

“Brad’s troubled brother,” Faith said, trying her best to keep her expression somber.

“He’s _so _going to Hell,” Dean cackled. Then his face went slack and all humor vanished immediately. “What the”—he flicked his gaze to the pastor—“_tarnation_ do you mean, you’re calling Ketch?”

All right. Apparently that conversation had taken a hard left turn. Faith whirled back to Pastor Ralph. “Could you show me around? While Brad finishes his conversation with his brother?”

Pastor Ralph was still studying Dean like he didn’t know what to make of this underwear business, so Faith fell back on trusty Plan B. She pressed herself close, close enough her nipple—unencumbered by a bra—brushed across the pastor’s arm, and lowered her voice. “I’d really, really appreciate the tour, Ralph.”

Pastor Ralph looked down at her, at first as though he were surprised by how close she’d gotten. Then his gaze fell to her mouth, then down over the column over her throat, and lower still until they were fixed on her breasts.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I’d…like to give you the tour.”

Faith grinned and winked, then turned to Dean. “Brad, honey, the pastor’s gonna show me around. Will you be okay here?”

Dean looked up, his previous grin completely gone now, exchanged for a dark scowl. He glanced from her to the pastor and back again, and she saw the instant he got it, both because his eyes widened and because the scowl went a shade deeper.

“You’ll be okay here?” Faith repeated, smile frozen in place. _Take the hint, Ducky, and look around._

“Yeah. I’ll just…finish counseling Sammy through his personal crisis.” He darted his gaze to the pastor once then back to her with a look that read, “Clock the motherfucker if you have to, goddamn hypocrite.”

Faith blew him a kiss, then let Pastor Ralph usher her away.

Twenty minutes and one well-timed use of a camera-phone later, Faith returned to the sanctuary, finding Dean waiting and looking a little pissed and a lot dejected.

“Checked the kitchen and all the associate offices.” He looked to where the front of her cardigan was open, accentuating her breasts. “Where’s Pastor Ralph?”

“Where I left him. On the phone, explaining to his wife why he was about to motorboat a stranger.” She held up her phone—the pastor’s face had gotten close enough to her chest that she’d felt his breath there, but she’d managed to shove him back before he’d so much as grazed.

Dean studied the photo with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “Okay, so maybe you’re not so bad at this. But…”

Faith rolled her eyes and slipped the phone back between her breasts.

“Tell me that’s not where it was before.”

“It’s not, but I know you’ll guard this area if need be. And Ralphie knew nothing about salt. Got that outta him while I was debating which local news stations to send the photo to.”

“And you just took him at his word?”

“Fuck no. Checked his office. Looks like it’s a bust.” She turned and nodded toward the exit. “You gonna let me do the talking across the street?”

“You gonna get on your knees for the big guy tonight?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Fuck you, Winchester.”

“Dammit Janet, is that a yes or a no?”

She snickered and shook her head as they descended the steps back to the parking lot.

Then something caught her eye. Not something—someone. A very out-of-place someone. Faith just stared for a moment, sure she was seeing things, then her heart jumpstarted and took her legs along for the ride.

“Faith?” Dean yelled after her. “Hey!”

“Willow!” she yelled. “Willow!”

The redhead turned, and yeah, it was her. Her hazel eyes went wide when she saw Faith bearing down on her, the look on her face stricken. She whirled around—and that was when Faith saw the guy behind her. Someone shouting things at the witch, and Willow’s expression morphed from stricken to outright panic. The redhead whirled back around and thrust her hands out—

Faith hit something hard, an invisible something with the force of a hurricane. It tore her off her feet and sent her body whipping through the air in reverse. She heard Dean scream her name—or maybe she only thought she did, she couldn’t be sure. Scenery flashed before her eyes in a hard blur, then there was the sound of shattering glass and an explosion of pain at her back. She released a cry, couldn’t help it, and moved to cover her head, but the force of air against her arms was too strong to combat. She thought a bone might snap and hell, maybe one did.

Then, just as quickly, she smashed against a hard surface and fell to the ground. Glass cracked and, in the distance, she heard horns honking and people screaming, but she couldn’t convince her eyes to open to figure out just what the hell had happened.

Until she did manage to open her eyes…and immediately wished she hadn’t. The world was tipping up. Metal groaned and bent, and Faith had slammed into the back of what she belatedly realized was one those travel buses. Her shoulder was screaming and glass danced through the air, because the bus was moving. Rocked off its front wheels and back, and now glass was falling and the floor became the ceiling. The last thing she was aware of was the stab of pain in her left shoulder before her body bounced from one surface to the next. The bus, seized by gravity, completed its somersault and fell back to the pavement.

Then all was still.


	31. Chapter 31

Dean had witnessed a picture-book of nightmares in his life. The moment the invisible Hellhound had mauled him to death. The moment that Sam had killed Lilith and released Lucifer. The moment the towering Darkness had been unleashed on the world. Faith crying out before dissolving into a blinding burst of white light.

None of that compared to watching Faith fly through the air and total an entire bus. He’d already watched her die once. He didn’t know if he could handle it again.

He saw him. Lucifer. He stood behind the bitch—wasn’t that the Willow everyone had been looking for—and had obviously ordered the attack. While his brain told him that he needed to run toward the devil and try to thwart the next assault, his instincts took control and he sprinted toward the carnage. Toward Faith.

There was twisted metal and dangling shards of glass everywhere as he crawled inside what had once been a tour bus. There were scattered bags and articles of clothing among the debris, but he only had one thing he was looking to find: a yellow sundress.

There she was, near the back of the wreckage. Broken. Bleeding. Unmoving. He barely registered that the strangled sob he heard was his own as he tried to call her name. He couldn’t find words.

A part of him knew she was dead. Slayer or not, there was no possible way a body could survive something so traumatic. When he made it to her, he collapsed at her side, unable to make himself check for a pulse.

“Baby?” he whispered, tears nearly blinding him as he looked at the giant shard of glass protruding from her shoulder. “F-Faith?”

Even though she was torn and broken, Dean couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. She honestly was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Shaking, he tenderly cupped her cheek in his palm.

Then she groaned. It was barely a sound, but enough to tell him she was alive. Enough to to tell him she could still be saved.

He didn’t know if moving her would help or harm, but he couldn’t leave her here. As gently as he could, he lifted her from the wreckage and slowly trekked his way out, trying to keep from dislodging the glass before he had a means to control the bleeding.

There were people shouting and crying and running about, but he didn’t care. Fuck covers and discreet. Fuck everyone who shouted he needed to wait for an ambulance. He made his way to the Impala, her limp body cradled in his arms. He managed to unlock and open the backseat before laying her down. As he saw her suit jacket strewn across a Walmart bag in the floorboard, he released a small cry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this.

It wasn’t until he was driving away that he realized he didn’t know what to do. After fumbling for his phone, he dialed the first number he could think to call.

“Dude, look, Ketch is about to be here and I don’t have time for—“

“Sammy,” he whimpered. “Sammy we need help.”

*~*~*

Sam stood in shock as he listened to his brother recount the situation. Honestly, he wished the panty thing was still the source of drama. Life was easier when Spike had nearly killed him a little over an hour ago.

“She’s a slayer, Dean,” Sam said in his best attempt at remaining calm. He took off in a near sprint. He needed to get to Buffy. Or Mom. Someone needed to call Cas and someone needed to validate to him that a slayer could actually be slammed into a bus and survive.

“Sammy, she isn’t moving! She’s…broken.”

God, he hadn’t heard Dean so scared in years. It had to be bad, but he couldn’t admit that to his brother. “Where are you?”

“Still here in fucking Kansas. We just…”

“Just what?” Sam asked.

“She just…she just…” Sam couldn’t hear, but heard Dean’s muffled voice. “She just asked…for Nick.”

“Oh,” Sam said at a loss for words. “Umm…let me find him.”

Sam heard more shuffling and Dean’s voice again say something he couldn’t here. There was silence. “Dean?” Nothing. “Dean!” he shouted into the phone.

“Never mind,” Dean said clearly. “She wants Nick to find me.” He released a nervous chuckle. “That’s a good sign, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Go back to the motel. We’ll call Cas.”

“Hurry,” Dean said before ending the call.

Sam paused, looking down at the phone and taking a steadying breath. He needed his brain to focus. If he hadn’t already sworn off alcohol, the hangover he was trying to overcome would have been cause alone.

“Well, Winchester, looks as though someone’s fists made acquaintance with your face. To whom do I owe my gratitude?”

Sam looked up with revulsion. Ketch was really more than he could handle in this moment. Looking around, he noted he’d made it to the main meeting room. His mom, Nick and Rosalie were seated at the table. Dawn was in the corner next to Spike and Buffy.

Great.

Sam ran a shaky hand through his shaggy mane of hair. This was all happening too fast. “Uhhh…”

“Don’t tell me _this_ is why you called. Surely your slayer could beat up your bullies? Unless…” Ketch turned his smirk to Rosalie. “Did you do it to him? Did he think you had a watcher fetish and made the wrong move?”

“Fuck off,” Rosalie spat in response.

Ketch merely shrugged. “Just fancying a guess.”

“Uhh, Buffy?” Sam stammered. “Might I have a quick word?”

“Not the time,” Dawn warned as she broke from the vampires and headed toward him.

“Not _that_,” he stage-whispered. “Just…” He aimed a pleading look at the eldest slayer. “Seriously. Like _now_.”

Buffy gave him a long, hard look before signaling her agreement with a single nod. Sam wasn’t surprised when Spike followed at her heels or Dawn trailed her brother in tow. Sighing, Sam turned and led them to the hall.

“I thought you learned your lesson, boy,” Spike hissed.

Sam shook his head. It wasn’t time for a pissing contest. “Faith’s been hurt.”

“What?” Buffy’s eyes widened as anger was replaced with shock.

“Dean thinks it was Willow…with Lucifer.”

Spike whispered a curse as Dawn reached out and grasped Sam’s arm. “Oh, god. Did I do that?”

“What?” Sam said as he clasped his hand over hers. “_No!_ But it’s bad. Faith. Like I’m not sure how long she has bad.”

“What do we do?” Buffy asked in a steely tone.

“Call Cas. Or Giles. They’re at the Independence Inn outside Kansas City. Room 137.”

Dawn spoke. “How do you know the room?”

Sam looked at Buffy. “_Now!_” He’d take another ass kicking from Spike later for snapping at his wife. “Dean and I always tell each other exactly where we stay when we hunt apart.”

He really didn’t mean to be short, but there really wasn’t time for exposition. As Buffy placed her cell to her ear, Sam grabbed Dawn’s hand and walked back to the room with the others.

“Bloody hell,” Ketch stated with an eye roll. “Don’t tell me Dawn Summers has been tainted by Sam Winchester and his deadly shaft.” He cast a disappointed look at Dawnie. “I had rather hoped to court you before you signed your death sentence.”

Sam wasn’t in the mood. Not ever, but certainly not now. He gave Dawn’s hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it and taking a step forward. “Let’s cut the shit. Where’s everything on the Hellmouth?”

Ketch blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hellmouth,” Sam repeated, his patience evaporating. “Talk.”

“I’m sure the former residents of Sunnydale can inform you of the subject,” Ketch said breezily. “Not sure why you’d need to—“

Sam was ready to get violent as he took a couple more menacing steps toward the evasive fucker. “Fucking talk!” he shouted.

“Sam?” his mother asked wearily. “This isn’t—“

He whipped his head to meet her eyes. “We don’t have time for nice,” he said cutting her off.

“What happened?” His mother wasn’t dense.

“Dean…” No. He shook his head. He wasn’t bringing up Faith here. Not when Ketch wasn’t yet aware she was alive.

Apparently, Sam had activated Mary’s mother instincts. At the mention of her eldest son, she stood up and pulled the pistol she’d been carrying at her back. Keeping her concerned gaze on her baby boy, she cocked and pointed the gun at Ketch.

“Mary?” Surprise dripped from Ketch’s voice.

“Talk. Now.” She turned her eyes to Ketch. “The Hellmouth here. Where are the Men of Letters hiding the records?”

“Mary, you have seen the archives and know what is available.”

The gun-blast was deafening as a bullet went sailing past Ketch and into a clock upon the wall behind him. Mary didn’t flinch as she tilted the barrel slightly. “Final warning. Don’t make me kill you again.”

Ketch was a dick, but he wasn’t dumb. Nobody who met Mary Winchester would say she was one for empty threats. He held up his hands in surrender. “Yes. Fine. It is on record that there was once an active Hellmouth here. While I’m not exactly sure where the information is located, I can guess there are a couple possibilities based on other bunker designs.”

She lowered her weapon. “Good. Show Buffy and Spike.” She turned to the vampires who had returned to the room. “Feel free to kill him if he starts acting suspicious.”

“Of course,” Spike answered coolly.

“Feel free to kill him afterwards if he starts acting obnoxious,” Mary added.

Spike smirked. “Thought that went without saying.”

Sam released a sigh as the trio made their way from the room. Please let Castiel have made it in time.

*~*~*

Willow was still in shock at the sight of Faith running toward them. Was that actually Faith or had it been someone using Polyjuice? What had she heard about shapeshifters?

All she knew was Michael had said to stop her and she had. Then the scene before her blinked away and she was transported to a new location.

“Stupid bitch!” the angel spat before using magic of his own to hurl her across the room where he’d first found her about to end her life.

She tumbled upon the bed, equal parts shocked and upset. “What?” she cried in disbelief as she caught her breath.

“You weren’t supposed to _hurt _her! Just stop her. Do you even know how to control yourself?”

Willow blinked. “You just called me a bitch?” This was supposed to be an angel?

He paused at that and took a deep breath, obviously trying to temper his anger. “Look, Dad just took the time to bring her back. Do you think he’s gonna be happy if you break his new favorite toy?”

“So that _was _Faith? She’s alive?”

He rolled his eyes. “I hope so because I don’t know how many times he’s gonna keep sending her back down here.”

Now she was more confused. “If God sent her back, why were you trying to stop her?”

He stared at her a long, uncomfortable amount of time, his expression completely unreadable. “She’s corrupted,” he said at last. “I saw she was with Dean Winchester.”

Willow knew that name. “Wright’s hunter friend?”

“Dean is much more than that. He tortured souls in Hell under the demon Alastair. He bore the Mark of Cain, first murderer on Earth. He unleashed The Darkness and nearly destroyed the world. Dean Winchester has brainwashed Faith. Likely he is using her to stop us from acquiring the salt.”

Holy crap. If experience had taught her anything it was Faith could be manipulated. It had happened years ago with Mayor Wilkins and just recently when Wes has tried to trade Rosalie for a shot to kill Zack Morris. “What do we do?”

“_We_ do nothing. I’m going to go and secure the salt. Hopefully my guys have figured out where our last ingredient is hiding. You,” he said, shaking a finger at her, “are staying put. Consider this a cosmic time out. Next time, let’s use our indoor magic and not blast our slayer with nuclear energy.”

He disappeared in a blink, leaving Willow alone and filled with worry and guilt. She had to know if Faith was okay.

Willing her mind to remember where they had been, she focused and Apparated. Surveying the scene, she could tell quickly that Faith wasn’t there. While people and police wandered about the area in shock and awe, there were no paramedics tending to Faith or anyone else.

Willow closed her eyes, trying desperately to locate any residual magic from her previous spell. If she couldn’t focus on that she could at least search the area for anything strong enough to be a slayer’s special signature. The energy with the Chosen bloodline was strong and distinct. It was used by vampires and demons to seek out the power. If she was alive, Willow could connect with it and figure out where she had gone.

Faith was alive. She sensed her presence and focused her magic on going to her. She needed to make sure she was going to be okay. Maybe she could save her from making any future bad choices.

She Apparated herself into another motel room, this one much more worn and dingy. Faith was on the bed, seemingly unconscious. A man—the Dean Winchester Michael has warned her of—was leaning over Faith’s broken body. It looked as though a belt had been tied around her shoulder in some form of tourniquet and a bloody shard of glass was lying on the bed.

Dean looked up at her, holding a knife in one hand and what appeared to be the shredded remains of his shirt. Was he making bandages? She wasn’t sure. Dean dropped the cloth as he seemed to recognize her immediately. His eyes filled with a wild rage as he stood up and hoisted the knife up dangerously. “Get back, you fucking cunt,” he snarled, quickly placing himself between her and Faith. “Witch or not, I’ll fucking slit your throat.”

That’s when she saw the mark upon his chest. It was the pentagram-like symbol Michael had asked her to remove from the priest’s chest. Except this one was upside down. Possibly this meant that Dean was more corrupted by evil than had been the man trying to hide the salt from God. “Let me have Faith,” Willow commanded.

Dean’s eyes grew darker and more sinister. “Over my dead body, bitch.” He took a step forward, preparing to lunge at her with the knife. “And you better make sure I’m dead because if you take her, I will hunt you down and kill you. Slowly.”

No. There was enough blood on her hands. Willow wanted to save Willow—wanted to save everyone—but she couldn’t murder. She doubted God or her own conscience could tolerate the act.

With a sigh of defeat, Willow took a step back, closed her eyes and Apparated back to her room. She’d have to figure out another way to rescue Faith. At least for the moment Dean Winchester seemed intent on keeping her alive.

*~*~*

Dean jumped as Willow disappeared with a distinctive crack of sound. He honestly thought he’d punched his timecard in that moment. Pretty sure after what he’d witnessed with Faith that Willow had the mojo to turn him into a Jackson Pollock splatter on the motel wall.

“Ducky?”

Shaking, he turned his attention back to his slayer. “It’s okay,” he said softly, making his way back to her side. “She’s gone.”

He saw her try to stir, but she was too weak and broken to do more than twitch and moan in pain. “Don’t move,” he said, picking up one of the straps of his former shirt he’d cut with the knife she’d had strapped to her thigh earlier. The other bandages he’d applied were already soaked with the blood still weeping from the wound at her shoulder from the giant shard of glass that had impaled her from the bus. Quickly he tied another strip of fabric around the gaping cut.

He heard a slight groan and shuffle directly behind him. Faith’s blade still clutched in his hand, he swiftly pivoted and jabbed the knife with all his strength. He felt the familiar sensation of stabbing flesh and twisted the knife as he drove it as deep as possible. This fucking cunt was going to die.

But it was a male’s grunt that sounded in the air.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel gasped before grasping his hand on the hilt of the blade.

“Fuck!” Dean howled, releasing the knife and stumbling back. Scrambling to process, he realized that Cas and Giles were now standing before him.

“It’s okay,” Cas said before pulling the metal from his abdomen with a wince. He held out the bloody blade, turning the handle to Dean. “I believe this is yours.”

Giles released a small snicker. “Been wanting to do that for weeks.”

Dean blinked. “Seriously?”

Giles gave him a smirk. “Seriously.”

Castiel seemed unfazed by the situation. He looked about the room. “Where is Willow? I sensed her magical signature.”

Dean shrugged. “Bitch popped in, threatened to take Faith, then left when I went to slice her throat.”

She must have heard him speak her name. “Ducky?” Faith whimpered for him.

“Did she say ‘ducky’?” Giles asked with a perplexed expression.

Cas looked from Faith to Dean. “Is ‘ducky’ in reference to something with Willow or Lucifer?”

No way in hell was Dean about to admit his special nickname. If embarrassment didn’t kill him, the Slayer would. “Uhhh…no. Pretty sure it’s side effects from knocking over a tour bus with her body. Which means you need to fix her now.”

Cas nodded and stepped to the side of the bed. Gently he laid his hand upon her forehead and did whatever angelic voodoo allowed him to heal. Slowly the cuts and wounds across her body began to fade and as she opened her eyes, Dean released the breath he’d been holding since Cas began his spell-work.

“What the actual fuck?” Faith said as she looked up at Castiel’s face in confusion.

“Welcome back, Miss Kitty,” Dean replied as relief overwhelmed him.

“Miss Kitty?” she questioned as she shoved away Cas’s hand and scooted herself up to a sitting position.

Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Sweetheart, you must have nine lives. Pretty sure I’ve seen you use up two now.”

She met his eyes and frowned. “That was…”

“Willow,” Giles finished for her. “Yes.” He shifted his weary gaze from Faith to Dean. “And you said she was with Lucifer?”

“Yeah,” Dean spat. “It was definitely that fucker in his old meat suit.”

“If Willow is working with Lucifer and Lucifer is attempting to open the Hellmouth in Lebanon, the situation is much worse than we originally evaluated.”

“No shit,” Dean and Giles responded in unison to Castiel’s obvious deduction. Dean almost gave an appreciative smirk to the man before remembering he was the dude banging his mom.

Cas ignored the insult and continued. “I can continue to attempt to locate Willow through her magic. Unfortunately I am unable to make a sustainable connection when she Apparates, but I should be able to trace her when she does significant magic in a single location.”

Giles grunted in acceptance of the angel’s words. “Hopefully Mary and Samuel have successfully ascertained the whereabouts of the Men of Letters’ Hellmouth records from Ketch.”

Dean scoffed. “Before or after they kill him?”

“Let’s hope before,” Giles replied. “I doubt the Council will send more ambassadors if we murder him.”

Cas looked to Dean. “I will put up warding on this room to keep demons, angels or witches from entering until you leave. I suggest you two don’t stay here overnight. Now that you’ve been located by Willow, we can only assume they will be sending reinforcements.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He wanted to look at Faith, but didn’t think he could resist the urge to jump her if he did. He really needed to kiss those glossy lips. “We’ll clean up here and then head back to base.”

“Be careful,” Giles said to them as he followed Cas to the motel room door.

“Aww, G,” Faith teased. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I do,” he responded as Cas opened the door and walked out. “About you both. So resist something reckless and foolish, as much as it goes against both your natures.” He didn’t wait for a response as he exited the room and shut the door behind him.

Dean marched over and locked the door. When he turned to make his way to Faith he found she had already stood up and walked up behind him. “Fucking hell, baby,” he muttered before grasping her nape and pulling her to his mouth.

“Ducky,” she sighed as she moaned against his lips. He felt her nails dig into his back as she clung to him.

Cupping her cheek against her palm, he honestly couldn’t believe this was the same woman he’d thought he’d lost no more than an hour ago.

They moved in a fury of motion as they tore the clothing from each other and tumbled onto the bed. It wasn’t until he was poised above her, his cock nudging her clit that he realized they were gonna have sex.

“Ducky,” Faith impatiently hissed.

He didn’t need a condom. The thought only made him harder. Dipping his dick to her entrance, he was amazed to feel she was soaking wet. It was likely slayer-related, but he told himself that she was aroused for him. She needed his body as bad as he needed her.

“Dean,” she moaned as she thrust her hips in offering. As he plunged inside her pussy, he didn’t know which he liked more—her special nickname she privately called him or the way she said his given name when she lacked her usual sarcasm and sass.

They fucked hard and fast, slamming their bodies together with wild abandon. The feel of her slick flesh without the layer of latex was more than he thought he could bear. “Faith,” he gasped between thrusts. “Baby, I—”

Taking the hint, she stopped and pushed him back. Seizing him by the shoulders, she threw him down on the mattress and swung a leg over to straddle his thighs. She paused a moment, giving him a chance to come back from the edge before grasping his dick and lining it up with her slit. Then, slowly she lowered herself until he was buried inside her completely. “Fuck yeah,” she moaned as he felt her pussy clench his shaft.

She braced her palms against his chest as she began to bounce herself up and down his cock. “That’s it, Ducky,” she said as she quickened the pace.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to last. Slipping a hand down to where the bodies joined, he found her clit and began flicking it with his fingers. “Yes!” she responded. “Faster!”

Following her command, he rubbed her frantically as she impaled herself on his dick. “Come for me, baby,” he begged. “Come for me, Faith.”

She threw her head back and released a scream that might have made him blush had he not been too busy spilling his load. She kept thrusting as he felt her body tense and the tremors of orgasm overtake her control. She kept riding until the waves of pleasure ceased to crash, collapsing atop him.

He wrapped his arms around her as he felt her tremble against his skin. The spasms of her muscles around his cock slowly began to lessen as they clung to one another and fought to regain their breath.

“Whew,” she said at last, pushing herself up enough to rest her forehead against his crown. “Maybe I should about die more often.”

He wasn’t sure he was to the point of finding the situation amusing. It didn’t stop him from smarting back. “Maybe we sit down and make a list, Miss Kitty. Not sure how many more chances you have before your passport expires.”

She smirked before dipping down to give him a kiss, teasing him with her tongue before pulling back. “Sounds like fun. We can do that on the ride back to Kansas, Dorothy. But for now, let’s wash up before the Wicked Witch of West tries to drop any more houses on our asses.”


	32. Chapter 32

Honestly, Josh wasn’t sure what he was going to do with all this good news, except try to find a way to share it with Sam.

The first call had been promising, actually. Not that what Sabrina Deanne had told him was without its own downsides, because learning that Willow was now considered a Wolfram and Hart asset was a major downside. But the little witch’s plan seemed sound—at least as sound as plans involving Harry Potter and an impossible heist could. It was a place to start, at least, and that was what Sam needed—something to do other than worry about the mother of his child. And though Sabrina was hardly Sam’s favorite person at the moment, there was a chance he’d be reasonable enough to at least speak to the woman without trying to have her arrested or executed on the spot.

But the call he'd just received from Giles…

Yeah, there was no half-full. It was just a giant shit sandwich of bad. 

And he got to break the news. Lucky him. 

Josh released a deep breath and made his way to the living area of the governor's mansion where the others waited for him. He tried and failed to keep from flinching as he made his way past the vampire. Granted, if Morris would make good on his threat, then Josh wouldn't have to relay any of what he'd just learned. 

So it was either death by vampire or death by being the shot messenger. Rock, meet hard place.

Donna knew something was wrong the second she met his eyes, of course. And he hated that he put that look there—the fear. They'd been through so much in such a small amount of time. What he'd put her through, intentions aside, had him in a state of perpetual wonder that she hadn't kicked his ass to the curb. Sometimes, more than he was comfortable admitting even to himself, he worried that she'd stuck it out just for the sake of their unborn child. And he was too chickenshit to ask.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

At that, Sam tore away from Toby and threw Josh a half-pleading, half-terrified look. “Have they found her?”

Josh blew out another deep breath and steeled himself. “Yeah, they've found her.”

Sam nearly tripped over himself, rushing to Josh. “Who?” he choked. “Giles?”

God, if only.

“MACUSA,” Josh said. “She's fine,” he added hurriedly. “Actually… No, none of this is fine. Sabrina said that she is now considered an asset of Wolfram and Hart. That she's helping one of the senior partners with a real estate thing in Kansas.”

Sam went pale. “What? No, she wouldn't.”

Toby made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl.

“Explains the man you heard her with,” Zack said, his expression dark.

“There's been a mistake,” Sam insisted. “Willow sounded…hopeful when we talked. Said she was going to make everything better. In no world does this mean working with Wolfram and Hart. She wouldn't, not after everything we just went through with them just to… No. If she's with them, it's because they're forcing her to do something.”

Zack cleared his throat. Sam glared at him. 

“Look,” Zack said, throwing up his hands, “I want you to be right. I've known Willow a lot longer than you; she's a friend. But…this is what Wolfram and Hart does. Wesley had been fighting them for years, but they capitalized on his grief and hatred to get him to do something he wouldn’t ordinarily. They were at the right place at the right time with the right message. Whatever Willow's been going through makes her the perfect target for manipulation. Wes rationalized what he did thinking it was the right thing. Maybe Willow is the same.”

“After everything we went through two months ago?” Sam snapped. “After they nearly killed Wright's daughter? After they _kidnapped _a child?”

“It could be easy,” Josh said softly. “Lilah Morgan is dead. All they'd have to do is say she went rogue and her actions don't represent the company.”

“That's—”

“Sam, there's more.” And it was worse. So, so much worse. “Willow was recently spotted in Kansas. She tried to kill one of the slayers.”

Zack's head snapped up. “Buffy? Rosalie? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they're both fine. It was the other one.”

“The one you like,” Donna muttered. “The slutty one.”

Josh gave her a look. They didn’t have time for this fight right now.

“Faith?” Sam asked, looking to Zack. “I thought she was dead.”

“She was brought back,” Zack said. 

“By who?”

“According to our new friends in Kansas… God.”

Toby snorted and rolled his eyes. “All right. That's it. We've officially left the world of rational thinking. Vampires, witches, slayers, evil law firms… Now you're telling me there's a direct line to the almighty? It's—”

“Not going to stop being true just because it freaks you out,” Zack fired back. “Faith is back—I saw her myself. And according to our new friends, the Winchesters, the guy who brought her back was God. And honestly, man, if _that _is your line in the sand, then what the hell are you even doing here? The truth is _no one _knows how big the universe is. Hell, I thought I’d just about gotten it figured out when we ran into these Kansas boys and they cracked it open wider.”

“Kansas,” Sam echoed, snapping back to Josh. “This real estate deal is in Kansas.”

“Yes. We believe we know what that is.” And the good news just kept coming. Josh pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s a hellmouth in Lebanon, Kansas, where these…Winchesters apparently live. Hellmouth being the same thing that was in Sunnydale, California. What we believe is Willow is helping open it.”

Sam looked like he might be physically ill, and Josh would have done just about anything to walk back what he’d just said. Or to not have to say anything to make it worse.

As though sensing that the bad wasn’t over, Zack met Josh’s eyes. “Do they know who the senior partner is? The one with Willow? My brother tells me that no senior partner has ever been seen—they’re mostly a shadow organization. Ancient evil manipulating the world through Wolfram and Hart.”

“Yeah, we know who the senior partner is.” Josh swallowed and forced himself to look at Sam head-on while he said this. He owed the man this much. “They believe it’s Lucifer.”

Sam stared at him. “Lucifer. As in the devil.”

“Yes.”

“Willow…is helping the _devil _open a hellmouth and she thinks this is a good idea?” Sam looked around the room, as though begging someone to jump in and scream how ridiculous this was. “Does this make sense to anyone? None of you saw what I saw, felt what I felt. The pain she’s in… She would never—”

“Try to end the world to make to make it all better?” Josh said, not realizing he meant to say it until the words were out there, but once they were, he couldn’t walk them back. “Sam, that is _exactly _what she did the last time. And she has the power to do it. Throw in the devil and the mouth to Hell and it’s pretty much a done deal. Maybe she thinks it’s for the best and that’s why she sounded okay when you talked to her. I don’t think Willow is evil—I don’t, but we all know what grief can do to a person. Would a Willow who was thinking clearly do this? Of course not. But everyone in this room knows that Willow hasn’t been thinking clearly for weeks. Can you, Sam, tell me that she was in her right mind when she dosed you with all her memories?”

In all his life, Josh doubted he’d ever been closer to being punched in the face by his best friend than he was at that moment. What made it worse was he saw the answer in Sam’s eyes, the one he didn’t want to accept.

“So what do we do?” Sam said a moment later, sounding utterly defeated. “Josh… I know it’s crazy but I do love her. If there’s any way of reaching her, we have to try it. We just have to.”

Josh nodded, his heart thundering. “I think we start by meeting—_meeting_—with Sabrina Deanne. She wants to see how deeply MACUSA is tied to Wolfram and Hart. If we know what we’re dealing with…maybe…”

The suggestion alone seemed like it might push Sam back over the edge of reason, but after a few seconds, the clouds behind his eyes cleared and he nodded. “As long as she understands killing Willow is off the table.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

“Mr. Governor,” Zack said a moment later, “if it’s between Willow and the world… Think of your son.”

“My son needs his mother.” At this, Sam choked a sob and seemed to collapse in on himself, and Josh knew all conversation had halted for now.

Which was for the best. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. If there was anywhere to go, or any conversation to have beyond the one he knew Sam would never be ready for.

*~*~*

It wasn’t until they were crowded together in the small bathroom that Faith noticed that the place she’d stitched up on Dean’s arm just the day before had vanished.

“How long was I out?” she asked, running her fingers over the stretch of clear skin there as he reached to turn the shower on.

Dean jerked and looked to her, his expression still somewhat far away. The look he’d given her after Giles and the angel had split was one of those things she figured she’d remember forever for the way it had shaken her. And all she’d known in that moment was she’d needed to touch him all over.

“Your arm’s all healed,” she said, lightly tickling the area on question. “Didn’t get the idea that I’d been out all that long, but then I once woke up thinkin’ I could make it to high school graduation eight months after B blew the place sky fuckin’ high.”

Dean followed her gaze and stared at the place she indicated. “Huh. Must’ve done that while I was focused on you.”

“Who?”

“Cas.” He snickered, shaking his head. “Figures. I knife the guy and he stitches me up when I’m not looking.”

“So that’s what happened—the angel’s your personal EMT.”

“Comes in handy.” Dean pushed Faith into the shower and followed. He’d been oddly quiet since they’d pulled apart on the bed, giving her the idea that the entire near-death experience had left him more shaken than he wanted to admit. In truth, she was a bit shaken too. Not at nearly dying, which was old fucking hat, but at how quickly it had happened. At least the other times she’d died or come close, it had been expected. This had come out of the blue—hell, she’d never been Will’s favorite person, but most of their baggage was yesterday’s news.

Granted, if she was working for the devil…

And there was something else—something here. Something that scared the shit out of her that she wasn’t sure she could go on ignoring that had everything to do with the guy standing so close to her she could feel the heat rising off his skin. He switched the shower on and weak motel water sprayed down on both of them, but for a long moment, neither moved.

Then Dean reached for the crappy motel soap and tore the package open with his teeth. The little bar looked ridiculous in his big hand, but he started lathering up before she could think to say anything. Once he was done, he ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, over her hips and stomach, up her abdomen until he was cradling her breasts and teasing her nipples with his soap-sudsy thumbs.

“Pretty sure the way you’re going about this shower business isn’t going to end up with either of us very clean,” she said a little breathlessly. Faith dropped her head against the wall and released a long sigh. “Didn’t Cas say we needed to bolt?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “And he’s right. We should hit the road.”

Instead, he sank to his knees before her and hiked one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Ducky, we—”

He had her clit sucked between his lips before she could figure out what the hell she’d intended to say, and then pretty much everything emptied from her head. Faith hissed, her head hitting the wall this time hard enough that it throbbed in protest. Dean just growled into her pussy and added tongue to take long laps of her soaked flesh. He dug his fingers into her hips to hold her to him, drawing slow circles around her clit with his pointed tongue before sucking on it in earnest.

“Dean, _Dean.” _Faith shuddered and grasped at his shoulder, trembling all over. She didn’t know why—she’d been eaten plenty, but never like this. Dean didn’t seem so much like he was hurrying to get her off, rather exploring her slowly. Not even that—drinking her in like she was something to be savored. It was so far removed from what she was used to that she felt herself nearing the edge at a damn near embarrassing speed.

It was when he whimpered into her cunt, when he said her name like a prayer against her flesh, that she seized up and spiraled. Somehow her hands ended up twisted in his hair, nailed raking along his scalp as he licked and sucked at her, and then she was spasming hard and bucking, needing something inside her to clench and ride. He seemed to understand, for the next instant, he’d risen to his feet again, hiked her into his arms and thrust into her just as she tipped into an explosion.

“Fuck,” Dean said against her lips. “You feel so fucking incredible when you come.”

Yeah, and now she wanted more. Faith wrapped her arms around his neck and rolled her hips so he pushed deeper inside her. “Do it again.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. Just do it with your dick this time.”

He grinned, squeezing her ass. “You like my dick, baby?”

“I like all of my ducky.”

That much she hadn’t meant to say—like at all, ever, in a thousand years. Hell, she could kick her own ass for admitting as much. But the words seemed to invigorate Dean, for he whimpered, buried his face into her throat and began to move with purpose. It wasn’t like the frenzied fuck from earlier or really any of the times they’d gone at each other. Like it was more about sensation than destination and everything contributed. The feel of the water on her skin, the wall at her back, Dean’s breaths against her throat as he worked his cock in and out of her.

And after a moment, Faith forgot the stupid thing she’d said and let herself go, her legs wrapped around his waist, pushing on his ass every time he withdrew from her, grasping at his shoulders, raking her fingers through his hair, and then, when he lifted his mouth to hers, kissing him like she’d never kissed anyone else. Needy and hot, yes, but at some point, he’d stopped being just anyone. Hell, maybe he never had been. But for the first time she let herself focus on the fact that she wasn’t just kissing a guy, wasn’t just being fucked by a guy, but that it was Dean. Who seemed to need something beyond just a warm female body—seemed to need her.

Or maybe all that shit was in her head. Maybe Willow’s blast had knocked her senses all the way out. But right then, as Dean began slamming into her harder, she hoped not. Fuck, she _really _hoped not, and that thought, more than anything—more than the feel of his flesh against hers, his fingers at her clit, his cock striking deep within her, his balls hitting her skin—had her tightening around him again and screaming his name in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. Then she felt him tense and follow her over, and yeah, she loved this too. The spur of the moment purchase that she’d second-guessed up until she’d seen his eyes the second they were alone. Because she loved knowing there was nothing between them, that part of Dean was still inside her when he pulled out. It made her feel closer to him, which was also scary as fuck, but in a heady way—a way that had her trembling for reasons that had nothing to do with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

After a moment, Faith blinked lukewarm water out of her eyes and grinned up at him, feeling a little shy. More brand fucking new territory for her.

Dean smiled back at her, then leaned in and kissed her lightly. And that was it—they washed up together in silence, moving in a sort of natural rhythm that should have surprised her but didn’t. He seemed to know when to move so she could access the spray, when she needed the shampoo, and even pushed her back to help her ring out her hair. He tossed her the first towel when they were finished, stared at her ass rather blatantly as she dried off—reminding her she had a new tattoo there—then followed her into the main room so they could resume the business of packing.

It wasn’t until they were loading up the car that the silence broke. Dean let out a snort when he saw the bag containing the mammoth supply of condoms he’d bought just a couple of days ago.

“How long does your pill thing last?”

“Seed,” she corrected. “And three years.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “Three…three _years_?”

At his tone, some of the warmth from earlier melted away. Faith tensed a bit, her spine straightening. “Yeah,” she agreed, unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice. “But I’m gonna insist on condoms going forward anyway. The seeds are only good against pregnancy.”

“You’re gonna insist?” He sounded disappointed.

“Yeah.” She looked at him. “After you and I are done and we’ve ridden this thing out. Don’t know where other dicks have been, Ducky, and I don’t much like to gamble where health is concerned. That’s one thing I can control, right?”

Faith held her breath, not sure what she wanted or expected but knowing she definitely wanted something. Something she didn’t get.

Some of the light in his eyes dimmed and he offered a jerky nod. “Right,” he said. “Of course.”

“Right.” She cleared her throat and tossed the last of her stuff into the trunk. “So don’t throw those away. The good ones last a few years, yeah? Might still get your money’s worth.”

She felt his eyes on her as she slid into the passenger side of the Impala but didn’t look back. And Dean didn’t press her—not as he got behind the wheel or started the engine. And fuck, she didn’t know what she wanted him to say. The things in her head sounded ridiculous enough. What, that what had happened out here had changed things? That the deal they’d struck before needed to be amended?

Faith wasn’t stupid—she’d had arrangements like the one she and Dean had made before. And they did fizzle out after a while, though she and Nick had kept at it just because it had been easy and convenient. And that had been the root of those arrangements—convenience. She found someone physically attractive, they found her attractive, they knocked boots and kept knocking them. Eventually, though, she’d stop finding the person physically attractive, usually the more she got to know him. Once he became a personality and not just a face. That didn’t necessarily put an end to the sex—a good hookup was a good hookup—but it had made things a bit bland after a bit.

With Dean it was going the other way, only more intense. And in none of her arrangements had she ever agreed to exclusivity. That kind of talk usually made guys think they had some kind of pull over her and they didn’t. If anything, demanding that theirs be the only dick she rode was the fastest way to get her to cut the whole thing short and walk away.

When Dean had told her they were going to be exclusive fuck buddies, she’d been relieved. Fucking relieved. Something she’d never once considered doing for any guy and she’d been _relieved._

Well, she might have been there with Wes. They’d never actually talked about whatever the fuck they’d been doing—only it had felt different.

Different, yeah…but not like this. Faith was pretty damn sure whatever she was feeling now was something she’d never felt before. When she’d had the same realization about Wes, that had terrified her—so much that she’d almost jumped Nick in the apartment that had become his just to confirm she didn’t feel anything squishy. Would have, actually, had he not pulled the brakes and called her on her bullshit.

Whatever she felt for Dean, though, didn’t make her want to run out and bone someone else. It was warm and exciting and awesome and scary as fuck, but she was a junkie for the rush most of the time. Then there were the times like now, where she had the ghost of all the good stuff but, more than anything, felt…alone. Because the good stuff was only good when she thought he might feel it too.

All of this made her think they ought to stop this altogether, because Faith could come back from a lot, but this was new territory and she didn’t love her chances.

Well, that was a downer.

Faith sighed, crossed her arms, and pulled herself up into a ball. Might as well get some shut-eye now. She had no idea what to expect when they returned to Lebanon when it came to anything—the Hellmouth, Willow, Lucifer, or whose bed she’d be in that night.

At the moment, though, she didn’t want to think about any of it.

*~*~*

Spike wasn’t an idiot. Even though Mary Winchester had given her blessing to off this git if he so much as walked funny, he knew the only call that mattered was the Slayer’s. There were days that bothered him more than others, and given how today had gone, he found himself missing the sodding Initiative chip. At least then he’d known he couldn’t actually tear into a bastard’s throat—knowing he could and having to restrain himself was a different sort of hell.

Much like letting himself get pulled off the giant sod that had sullied the Nibblet. Not just sullied—Dawn was her own bloody woman, much as he hated to admit it—but set out to humiliate her with it. Reminded him of some of the conversations he and Buffy had had when they’d first gotten together, how Angelus had belittled her to her face after popping her cherry, how bloody Parker had used her and tossed her aside the second he’d gotten what he wanted.

Thing was, Spike had liked the overgrown Winchester sod. Not a ton, by any means, but he seemed to be downright respectable. Looked after Bite Size like a good watcher, listened to Rupert when he had input, didn’t let himself get bossed around but also didn’t push Rosalie outside of her comfort zone. More a mentor and a friend than a leader or guardian, which was the way Spike thought it ought to be. And yeah, he’d been sniffing around Dawn a bloody long time so figuring the two of them would end up shagging hadn’t been much of a stretch. But him being an absolute wanker with the Nibblet? That had been a bloody Angelus move if Spike had ever seen one.

From what Dawn had told him and Buffy, she was giving the git another shot. A shot he hadn’t bloody well earned but Spike knew he’d have to just accept it because that was what was expected of defanged Big Bads. The Summers women had been calling the shots in his bloody unlife for fifteen years now and that looked to be something that never changed. If Dawn thought the wanker was worthy of taking that kind of chance on again, then he’d have to trust that she was smarter than he’d been at her age. Cecily had batted him back and forth more times than he cared to recall—often just to make him the butt of another joke.

Yeah, once this mess with the Hellmouth was sorted, Spike was going to have to tell the Slayer that if the big sod made Dawn cry one more time, he was burying the fucker and fuck anyone who tried to talk him out of it.

All of this pent up anger made the task of not sinking his fangs into Ketch’s thick throat downright painful.

“Everyone is wound up a bit tightly, aren’t they?” the sod asked as they made their way down yet another level. This bloody place was a bloody maze. “Does it have something to do with whoever made Samuel’s face easier to look at?”

“Keep. Walking,” Buffy snapped, this time adding a bit of a growl behind the words.

So far, the bloke had been leading them in circles. There were marks on certain walls that had a ring of home to them, in that Spike could recall seeing them on buildings back in Sunnyhell. These marks had led to levels of the bunker that he doubted even the Winchesters knew existed, one in particular that had been uncovered by nudging a stone in the rock formation. And the farther down they went, the more Spike was convinced that they weren’t going to find books on the Hellmouth.

He was pretty sure the bunker had been built here to contain the bloody Hellmouth. That the gate had been under their feet for weeks. From the set line of Buffy’s mouth, he wagered she’d landed on the same conclusion. There was a bloody riot of a conversation to have with the others.

_Nice place you got here. Fancy being swallowed into Hell?_

This last hallway had a bit of finality to it—a long stretch of white aligning a descending staircase that led to a blood-red door. No adjoining halls, no way to double back if a certain walking snack decided to double-cross the vamps he’d been sent here with, a thought Spike knew Ketch had had more than once for the way the man’s pulse skipped. The wanker had been eyeing his surroundings in a way that left little to the imagination. Checking for clues of ways to bugger off left by past generations of spineless gits, and the only reason he was still with them was he hadn’t found any.

“I think you ought to go first,” Ketch said, peering down at the door. “Being that you are demons and all.”

Spike gave the wanker a little shove, then seized him by the shoulder before he could take a spill down the stairs. “Bein’ that we’re a bit more welcome here than you, think we’re gonna let you have the honors.”

“Even though Spike rearranged Sam’s face this morning, Mary actually likes us,” Buffy added sweetly.

Ketch blinked at him. “Oh, that was you! Nice job, if I don’t—”

“Ketch, your name’s about to become hella ironic when you trip and there’s no one down there to break your fall.” Buffy also pushed him, and waited a beat longer than Spike had to seize him by the lapels of his cheap suit to prevent him from taking the tumble he so richly deserved. “Oh, and if you try to run, you won’t ever see daylight again.”

“Try to run? Miss Summers, I—”

“We’re vampires, moron,” she snapped. “I can hear your heart pounding. It tells me exactly what you’re thinking when you’re thinking it. Let this be a lesson to you—I have a soul, Spike has a conscience. And I’m it. So if I tell him to chow down, what’s going to happen?”

“Spike gets a nummy treat,” Spike agreed, rocking a bit on his heels. He leaned closer. “Do me a solid, mate, and give running away a go. Haven’t had a proper meal in years.”

Ketch gulped, flashing his gaze back to Buffy. “You’ll keep him from eating me?”

“Just. Walk.”

Ketch turned, the sound of his thundering heart now almost deafening, but it was accompanied by the sweet scent of the bloke’s fear, and hell, Spike had to admit how much he missed that. He gestured for the Slayer to precede him down the stairs, unsure at the moment whether he’d be able to keep his fangs to himself, as worked up as he was. And when they reached the bottom of the stairs and the world seemed farther away than it ever had before, he could almost fool himself into believing he was about to get a taste of the old Spike.

Ketch tried the red door. It didn’t budge. Of course not.

He looked over his shoulder, fake contrition spread across his face. “It—”

Buffy rolled her eyes, seized Ketch by the collar, and tossed him into Spike’s arms. Then, without ceremony, she lifted one of her legs and kicked a dent in the door. Then another. It was reinforced, which made it a bit of a chore, but his slayer was nothing if not persistent. And so strong at times she’d suffocate him with her thighs if he needed to breathe, which was a bloody turn on. As was this—watching her take down anything, from big bad hellgods to doors to the Hellmouth.

At last, the hinges on the door gave way and crumpled. Buffy was able to kick what was left of it aside and stepped in.

“Yeah,” she called over her shoulder. “Spike, we got ourselves a Hellmouth.”

Spike shoved Ketch forward. The room that opened up was circular and carved out of cave rock. The walls were etched with hieroglyphics. In the center of the room was an inlaid crest, surrounded by lines of what Spike knew to be Enochian.

“So,” Buffy said dryly, “who gets to tell the Winchesters?”

*~*~*

Dean tried not to look at her when she sighed and shifted again. He failed. He’d been failing for the past thirty minutes or so since Faith had drifted off to sleep. Just as he’d failed to keep himself from replaying the last few words they’d exchanged on repeat, like he was some lovesick blowhard.

Except the absolute terror of nearly losing her had kind of robbed him of the ability to distance whatever it was he was feeling from himself. Hell, part of him wondered if he’d see it for years—Faith smashing into that bus and the bus rolling over. The cold horror that had commanded his body as he’d rushed through the wreckage and how fucking sure he’d been that he’d never see her sassy smile or sexy smirk again.

And yeah, he’d been a bit clingy after. He recognized that. He’d followed her into the shower like a puppy and hadn’t been able to stop touching her, because touch told him what eyesight alone couldn’t—that she was in fact real, that she was in fact alive, and she was in fact his for the moment.

But that was the bitch of it, wasn’t it? _For the moment_. Something she’d been in a hurry to clarify before they’d set on the road. And that was all right, wasn’t it? That was the plan they’d agreed to and one near-death experience didn’t change shit.

Except that much had started to feel more and more like a lie he told himself. He’d known it when his heart had dropped as she’d asked for Nick, and how it had perked right the fuck back up again when she’d told Nick to find her ducky. And again, when he’d assured her that her ducky was right there, she’d asked her ducky to stay.

Faith had been hanging between life and death and she’d wanted him. And that had made him want to bawl like a fucking baby.

And then, earlier in the shower, she’d told him to his face that she liked all of him. That hadn’t been fucking pillow-talk, had it? Faith wasn’t the type of girl who whispered sweet nothings or said shit she didn’t mean. Not about the way she felt, at least. That was one of the things he liked most about her.

So had that bullshit talk earlier about condoms been saving face because she’d been honest with him or her trying to reestablish the terms of their agreement? And which did he want it to be?

Faith shuffled again in her sleep. Hell, she was right about one thing—she did move around a lot. He hadn’t seen it in the nights they’d shared a bed, but she seemed antsy now. Going through a fucking bus would do that to a girl.

How she’d managed to stay alive at all after that would be something he’d never understand.

At last, she flopped toward him inelegantly, stretching her legs across the bench of the Impala and resting her head at his thigh. It was only then that she seemed to settle. And though he didn’t want to, he felt himself relax in kind.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “’Night, Ducky.”

Dean glanced at her—and yeah, seeing her head in his lap was enough to give other parts of his anatomy ideas—but more than that was the small upward tilt of her lips. He released a breath and drew her hair over her shoulder before returning his gaze to the road.

“Get some sleep,” he said hoarsely, then did his best to focus on the music sounding through the car’s speakers and not at all on the girl using him as a pillow.

Like most things of late where Faith Lehane was concerned, he wasn’t successful.

*~*~*

The first time he’d seen Willow, Harry had thought she might be the first person he’d have to set out to kill. That was something a man didn’t forget, especially one who had spent his childhood evading death and managing to keep from taking lives while simultaneously saving the world from the darkest evil that anyone could imagine. He’d managed to bring about the downfall of Voldemort, head up the Auror department, and initiate real change within the Ministry without spilling blood. Not that blood hadn’t been spilled but he hadn’t had to do the cutting. That was the one saving grace he’d kept to himself in those years—while people had stood in front of him to die in his place, he had managed to not killed anyone himself.

But when he’d seen Willow, her eyes and hair black, dark veins standing stark against her porcelain skin, surrounded by a ball of living lightning that consumed the very earth it moved across, he’d thought he’d have to kill her. More than that, he’d thought he’d have to use the curse that had been used twice on him—the one he’d vowed to never utter.

Then there’d been a man there. A Muggle. An ordinary bloke, from the look of things. He’d said something to her and she’d blasted him with wild magic. Ron had groaned and muttered something about the poor, foolish git, and they’d both watched in amazement as the man had climbed to his feet and tried to approach her again.

Four times, the Muggle had taken a blast of magic to the chest. Four times he’d crawled to his feet. And something remarkable had happened in the interim—Willow had become less cold and detached. Shades of red began to bleed through her mane of black hair. Each magical burst seemed just a tad bit weaker, until finally they’d sparked to about nothing. She’d taken to pounding on the Muggle’s chest in absence of having anything harder to throw, before finally collapsing into his arms and sobbing.

Harry had never gone from loathing a person to feeling for them quite that quickly. There had been the visage of Voldemort in the dream he’d had between being hit with the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest and rejoining the Battle of Hogwarts, but that thing had been pitiful and inhuman. Willow, in the moment she’d broken, had been nothing but human. And he’d sworn then to do whatever he could to help her.

Of course, he’d later learn that she conducted a spell on herself to forget all of what he’d seen, which had made getting close to her something of a challenge. Every time he’d been around her, she’d been bubbly and sweet, reminding him at times of Hermione and at others of himself. In the back of his head, he’d had to keep the image of her with black eyes and dark veins fresh because reconciling one Willow with the next was bloody difficult.

Then something unexpected had happened—she’d become his friend. A true, genuine friend. Such a good one sometimes he’d find himself asking her if she remembered things like what Hogwarts was like when Gilderoy Lockhart was the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor only to realize, halfway through it, that he hadn’t known her then. It seemed unfeasible at times that she hadn’t been there with him and Hermione from the beginning. In fact, in recent years, he’d had to remind himself more often that part of what the Ministry expected him to do was keep tabs on her.

Which was how, he supposed, he’d found himself in this situation. Standing with a member of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, having to rationalize that Willow might be working with something as foul and evil as Wolfram and Hart.

“So, just to make sure I’ve understood all that,” Ginny said from his side, ever cool and in control. One of the million bloody reasons he was mad for her. “Your government works with an agency that has a proven track record of working in the Dark Arts, and you just now thought it might be worthwhile to question just whose side you’re on?”

Sabrina Deanne paled considerably, but didn’t back down. She wore the same tentative but stubborn expression she’d had since she’d shown up at his and Ginny’s flat, claiming she had news about Willow and begging for help. Ron and Hermione had hurried over at once, and they’d all listened as Sabrina had recounted what Toadmore had told her.

“You’re no longer on about the mad plan of killing her, are you?” Ginny asked, gripping Harry’s hand tightly. “Because I believe we made ourselves perfectly clear where that is concerned.”

“You all act as though I liked the idea of killing anyone,” Sabrina argued. “I thought it was the best course for everyone. Willow included. But I was expecting that to be more of a…situation like it was the last time.”

“And you know so much about what happened the last time because of all the reading you’ve done,” Ginny snapped. “You weren’t there, were you?”

“No, Mrs. Potter, I wasn’t there. I was a child, not too much younger than your eldest son,” Sabrina snapped back. “So yes, everything I know about that situation was taught to me. We learned about what happened as it happened. It caused an outright panic because she was one of ours—Willow Rosenberg grew up and lived not three hours from where we’re standing, and that was terrifying. The government started talking about rounding up all NoMaj people with magical abilities unlike ours and… Well, it caused quite an uproar. It was magic we couldn’t predict or understand and ever since learning about it, our world has never been the same. But one thing that did come from all of that was that Willow, when it happened, was out of her head with grief and rage. Unable to control herself or think clearly. All the propaganda MACUSA has issued on witches like Willow since then has hinged on that, making mental health one of the cornerstones of identifying potential NoMaj threats.”

“That sounds very forwards and backwards at the same time,” Hermione muttered.

“If MACUSA believes that Willow is an asset of Wolfram and Hart’s, it’s because they have reason to,” Sabrina continued. “And I believe you know better than I do what that might mean. Not for MACUSA…but for everyone. I need your help to discover what the relationship between Wolfram and Hart and MACUSA really is…and what they might be planning.”

“And we’re back to this,” Ginny said. “You want my husband, brother, and sister-in-law to break into your government headquarters, knowing full well if they’re caught it will cause an international crisis and possibly put our two countries at war.”

Harry seized Ginny’s hand and squeezed. “Darling, it’s for Willow,” he said softly. “And it’s not like we haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

“It’s a lot like you haven’t done it over here where people could give a fig that you’re Harry bloody Potter,” Ginny fired back.

“We’re not wanted fugitives this time,” Ron reasoned. “Shouldn’t require as much planning as it did to get into the Ministry. Or be as dangerous.”

“Ron…” Hermione looked torn, almost to the point of tears, and Harry knew what she was thinking before she spoke. “It’s not just our lives we have to think about this time. Rose and Hugo…”

And there was that. Harry blew out a breath. It had been too long since he’d seen his children. If they did this and were caught, he might never get a moment with them again.

But hell, if he didn’t do this, what would he tell them? That he’d given up on Willow without a fight? That he’d turned on someone who was sort of a fixture around the Potter household because it was the easy thing to do? Toe the Ministry line?

And in the back of his head, always lurking there, was the question he could never quite put to bed.

_What would Sirius have done?_

“It’s Willow,” he said. “And it’s what we do for friends.”

Hermione gave him a weak smile, the sort that meant she’d known what his answer would be all along.

“But we have to be smart about this,” he continued, looking to Sabrina. “None of it will matter if we get caught.”

They began planning from there. And Ron was right—it was a bit different than having to sneak into the Ministry with Death Eaters in charge and his own face staring at him from wanted posters. This would require stealth and subterfuge, but the sort that was a bit bolder.

Percy Weasley would suggest that Harry Potter give a guest lecture to disambiguate some of the rumors and stereotypes prevalent about him and his history. This would be the extent of Percy’s involvement, and he wouldn’t know anything about the real reason for the visit. Though the wand up his arse had been knocked loose during the War, he was still a stickler for rules and would be horrified to be caught conspiring in any international affair. Hermione would assume Harry’s place at the lecture, being that she was the best spoken of all of them, and Harry would play the role of a visiting British wizard who happened to bear the face of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce—apparently, Sabrina was confident she could secure some of Wes’s hair. Ron and Ginny would be in attendance of Harry/Hermione’s speech, but also as backup if need be. If anyone asked where Hermione Granger-Weasley was, they would claim she was home with a NoMaj ailment that she’d agreed to forgo treatment on as a favor to her Muggle-obsessed father-in-law, who wanted to know how cold medicine worked.

This remained the plan even after Sabrina dismissed herself to take a phone call from Josh Lyman, and returned with the news that the man Willow was known to be traveling with was apparently the devil himself, and the governor had asked to see her.

If anything, learning Willow was traveling with a bloke calling himself Lucifer just intensified Harry’s need to clear her name.

Because it seemed that more than just the fate of a couple of countries was at stake.

*~*~*

The first thing Faith became aware of was she was drooling. The second thing she became aware of was she was drooling on something solid and warm…and denimy. The third thing she became aware of was someone’s hand was in her hair. The fourth thing she became aware of was the now-familiar purr of the Impala combined with the similarly familiar sound of classic rock.

“Dean?” she asked hoarsely.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

She blinked, wiped her mouth and turned. Apparently, she’d ended up with her head in Dean’s lap—something she couldn’t help but notice he seemed rather pleased about.

“Was just about to wake you up,” he said. “We’re about there.”

“Already?”

“You’ve been out for a while, babe. And I gotta say, having your head down there makes driving hella distracting.”

Faith smirked, feeling a bit better than she had earlier. Sleep had a way of doing that, she’d discovered. The tension that had been there was gone—though she wasn’t so dumb she didn’t think it wouldn’t be back eventually. She’d enjoy the respite while she could.

“Yeah, you making that face doesn’t help matters.” Dean hissed and shifted, and she saw he was telling the absolute truth. His cock was hard and straining against his fly. “We still have a few minutes…”

“You’re seriously asking me for road head?”

“You’re seriously surprised by this?”

Faith snickered and rolled her eyes, but turned anyway and began dragging down his zipper.

Dean inhaled sharply as she pulled him out of his jeans. “Wait—are you actually—”

She answered him by taking him into her mouth, all the way back, and working her throat around the head of his cock. Dean swore and swerved, making her laugh, which made him moan, so she did it again. And set about a quick rhythm around him, faster than last night but just as much fun. Perhaps more, because she felt when he was losing control not just in his body but in the way the car moved or swayed.

“Faith…_shit_, baby, I’m—”

She hummed around him to let him know she understood and sucked him all the way down again. Then he exploded in her mouth with a hard moan, and she continued milking him until the shudders subsided.

Then she sat back up, drew a circle around her mouth to flex her jaw, and settled on her side of the car before he had a chance to reclaim his breath.

Dean didn’t say anything as he pulled in at the bunker or as he tucked himself back into his jeans. But he did send her a heated look that told her they’d probably have set a new record by the time they crashed tonight.

“Come here,” he growled, and reached to pull her across the space of the Impala, but the sound of voices broke through the fog.

Voices calling her name. Voices belonging to people she knew she couldn’t ignore, even if her clit was throbbing. Faith turned to see Nick and Rosalie hurrying toward the car—both seemingly desperate for her, and hell, that sight warmed her up too.

“Hold that thought,” she told Dean with a wink, then edged out of the car just to be taken into a massive bear hug by Nick, who practically lifted her off the ground.

“Bloody hell,” he said, pulling back to allow Rosalie the same opportunity, “could you stop trying to die on us, love?”

“I dunno,” Faith replied, unable to keep from grinning at the way Rosalie had curled herself around her. “This last near-death experience might be my favorite.”

“You are not allowed to almost die for at least six months,” Rosalie said, stepping back and wiping her eyes. “I… We didn’t get a chance to…”

“I know,” Faith said, patting the girl on the shoulder. She’d been in such a hurry to get away from Dean that she’d skipped the whole kiss-and-make-up party. Which, considering her state of mind upon return, was not without its irony.

She turned just in time to see Dean strolling toward her from the Oldsmobile. She narrowed her eyes. “Looking for Dawn’s underwear?”

“Nope,” he said with a bounce in his step. “Just…wanted to check on something.” He glanced between her and Nick for a moment—Nick had gotten close enough again to throw an arm around her shoulder—and something in his face fell. Not by much but by enough that she saw it.

“You guys better hurry in,” Rosalie said, pulling on Nick’s hand. “Buffy and Spike just came back up with Ketch and…I’m guessing it’s not good news.”

“Nothing with Ketch ever is,” Dean muttered.

Faith frowned and, subconsciously, took a step toward him. Subconsciously put a step between her and Nick. “Who’s Ketch?”

“British, kinda cute, entirely an asshole, involved in the Watchers Council,” Rosalie supplied. “So…kinda your type.” She elbowed Nick playfully. “Except mine’s cuter.”

Dean stiffened even further. Faith met his eyes, rolled hers, shook her head with a snicker, then gestured to Rosalie.

“Think I’ve had my fill of British assholes, kiddo,” she said. “But thanks for the hard sell. Lead the way.”


	33. Chapter 33

Sam took a sleeve to wipe his brow and brush the hair from his eyes. He was sweating whiskey sour and beer so bad he guessed he smelled like a frat boy’s laundry basket. He heaved his second load of books from the basement of basements onto the map table.

“Did someone partake in one too many before or after Spike broke your face?” Ketch was also winded, but was obviously handling the exercise better than Sam at the moment.

He wanted to snap back, but he thought he might vomit if he opened his mouth. Luckily, he had Dawnie back in his corner. “You know I can have my brother do you like that. Probably worse because I’m betting Sam could kick your ass in hand-to-hand.”

Ketch lacked time to reply as there was a loud noise. Turning, Cas and Giles were in a place they had to have just landed. Apparently Giles had wobbled and knocked over a table. “Bloody hell,” Giles grumbled, yanking his arm from the angel’s grasp.

“Glad you could make it,” Mary drawled. “Figured you two would want to pause your Hollywood vacation for a peek at these.”

“Indeed,” the man replied with a small smile. Shit, was he crushing on his mom?

“Sam,” Cas said as he walked up to him. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah,” he grunted in response.

“You smell repulsive. A combination of alcohol and body odor.” Then, he laid a cool hand on Sam’s forehead.

Sam sighed in relief as the pain of his injuries and the symptoms of his hangover faded into memory. “Thanks, Cas,” he replied breathlessly when the healing was complete.

“Now that things are settled,” Ketch said hesitantly, “might this be the part where I leave?” He turned a bitter look to Mary. “Or shall we just repeat the part where you shoot a bullet at me and threaten to sic the local guard dogs?”

“Really?” Giles quipped, bemused. “And you said you were calmer than the children.”

“Hey,” Sam, Dawn, and Buffy snapped in defensive response.

“Shut up, Rupert,” Mary hissed.

Sam looked up to see Rosalie and Nick enter the room. “Thanks for all the help with the books,” he greeted sarcastically. “Not like one of you is a slayer or anything.”

“Whatever,” Rosalie said with a smile. If they had snuck off for a quickie in the middle of this, he was going to work her until she cried. But when she reached back for a hand, she didn’t grasp her boyfriend. “Surprise!” She announced as she tugged Faith from the shadows.

“Good,” Buffy said before taking off to wrap her surrogate sister in a hug.

Sam looked to see Dean heading up the rear. After looking to the slayer reunion with a warm smile, his brother looked up and locked gazes with his own. He didn’t say anything as the smile slowly faded. Pushing past people, they both covered the distance until they were entwined in a tight embrace. No one here understood the danger here better than them. No one understood the quiet fear inside both of them with the confirmed knowledge that Lucifer was back and in the wheelhouse. “Thank you,” Dean said in the faintest of whispers.

“You okay?” Sam asked. After one last squeeze, they broke the hug and took a step back. They normally kept the bromance moments private and very infrequent. Pretty sure the California crew hadn’t seen either of them that loving.

Well, except Dawn last night when they’d…

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah.” His voice was more gravelly than normal. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied quickly. “All better.”

Dean gave him a once over before shaking his head. “Dammit,” he pouted. “Did anyone at least take a picture?” He pivoted to Spike. “Come on! I thought you were better than that!”

“Dean Michael Winchester,” his mother snapped sternly. He caught his brother’s flinch in response.

“I did,” Nick softly announced, shooting a guilty smile Sam’s direction. “Sorry, mate. I was the last cold-cocked by a member of the family.”

Sam kinda wanted to slap Rosalie for not kicking the prick. She snickered as Spike said, “You know I got Daddy whipping you on camera, boy.”

Nick looked up to the vampire with a smirk. “Why else would I do it? Not exactly useful for anything.”

“Laughs,” Dean stated. “Lots and lots of laughs. For me. A nice bit of karma to the bitch who always gave me shit for drunken mistakes.”

“I believe we should save the laughter until after the Hellmouth is investigated,” Cas replied.

“Yes,” Mary agreed. She turned to the senior Watcher. “Mr. Giles.” She gestured a hand along the table. “I believe you and in charge.”

Giles assumed his role and began sorting the books. One pile contained the texts he had never seen or studied. The second and much larger stack of books were ones the man had accumulated from his years of research on the subject. Everyone grabbed a hardback and found a place to sit.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Nick asked after several quiet minutes of study. “Yes, there’s the obvious, but what are we hoping to find concerning _this _Hellmouth?”

“In those,” Giles said nodding toward the larger stack, “little to nothing. Possibly a reference or two. More history and theoretical speculation on the subject as a whole.” He then turned his eyes to the smaller, yet still vast bundle of texts before him. “These are where any answers lie.” He nodded to Nick and then Buffy. “Help search these. Dawn and Spike as well.”

“Excuse me?” Faith called, waving a hand in the air slightly. “Was kinda there for all the shit, too.”

Dawn snorted. “Yeah, do you even know how to read? Doubt you opened a book in Sunnydale.”

“Pretty sure she wouldn’t’ve blabbed you out to the King of Hell yesterday,” Dean snapped.

“Hey!” Sam called out in shock and mortification. He couldn’t believe his brother would be such a dick about it. “Dude! Don’t. Look you wanna blame anyone, blame me. I should have sent him away faster.”

Dean rolled his eyes before looking back down at the text he was researching. Faith gave a pissy glare at Dawn before snatching her book off the table to block Dawnie from her view. Dawn gave Sam a slight smile of gratitude before turning her focus to the work before them.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her friendly face looking at him. After what he’d done, he really wasn’t sure why she’d forgiven him. She deserved better than that. Better than him, stupid panty gag aside. He had to make it up to her. Some gesture to show her how much he cared that she’d taken a second chance on him. Only three other people in the world had done that for him—for some reason though, he really didn’t felt his absent mom completely qualified—and that made him feel something much deeper than the sloppy sex they’d had last night. 

As usual, he’d have to put his personal life on hold. Once again the world was on the verge of destruction and once again the Winchesters had a part in stopping it.

Hopefully they’d do a better job this time.

*~*~*

Sabrina shifted awkwardly as she listened to the phone ringing. She was nervous Wesley would deny her request. Possibly she was more nervous he would accept. Could she remain focused on business if she was alone with him again?

“Sabrina,” he whispered her name like a prayer. “Please tell me good news.”

She gave a small titter. “Uhh…good? Well, it would depend upon how much you’d like a visitor?”

He paused. “Who?” He didn’t sound exactly thrilled.

“Me,” she said with a nervous giggle. For fuck’s sake, she needed to pull herself together. She was acting like it was a booty call, not a matter of orchestrating a serious covert operation.

“Yes!” She heard his voice rise in excitement. “What do you need?”

“Your location. It’s going to take a bit. I can only Apparate so far at a time. I may have to use the Floo Network to get there.”

After she got the exact address, they ended the call and she began making her way to Oregon. He had found a cabin relatively remote and was taking time for solitary reflection. It was nearly three hours after she had heard his voice before she was knocking on his front door.

He hadn’t done much to clean himself up. His hair was mussed like he hadn’t showered for days. He had a beard where it had been stubble when she’d last saw him. And his clothes looked and smelled like scotch and old pizza. Despite it all, she swooned when he grinned at her. “I was afraid to step into the shower on account of your unscheduled arrival.”

“Sorry.” She winced apologetically before slipping inside and shutting the door. “The Portland terminal was delayed from traffic. Took longer than I wanted.”

He gave her a weary look. “I highly doubt this is a social call, but to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Quickly, she gave him the rundown on everything that had happened since their last conversation. She ended it by once again stating she needed a sample of his hair.

“I have a question,” Wes said after she quit speaking. “I’ve been rereading the Potter books.” He nodded to a table filled with those seven and many other texts. “Polyjuice Potion takes several weeks to brew. Do you just keep it on constant supply?”

Sabrina nodded. “At headquarters. You’re supposed to sign a form revealing who you are impersonating and for how long.” She gave a sheepish smile. “I won’t be signing the form this time.”

He chuckled lightly before his humor faded. “How are you?”

“Huh?” She hadn’t expected that question.

“I know the pain and bitterness one feels when they learn the object of their devotion has been less than flawless. It isn’t easy to accept.”

She swallowed back her emotion at his words. He was right. “Well, I think I have a little twinge of denial still holding on, but the truth will all be revealed shortly.”

She felt him reach out and cup her cheek, the rough pad of his thumb lightly caressing her smooth skin. They both stepped forward in unison as they brought the lips together in a kiss. She breathed his scent in as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He was dirty, greasy and tad smelly, but she was too far gone to care.

After an ungodly amount of time, oxygen deprivation resulted in an end to their make-out session. “Well,” Wes gasped, stepping back from her embrace. She expected a lame-ass apology to follow. “I should have brushed my teeth.”

Sabrina snorted in laughter. “I’d like to think you’d do it on the regular.”

He snickered in response. “Yes, well, I’ve been lacking in my personal hygiene the past few days.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sweetie, that’s kind of obvious.”

Sabrina winced at her stupidness. Had she just called him that?

Wes didn’t comment on it as he gave her a guilty look. “Apologies. Haven’t exactly been the best of myself lately.”

She reached out and grasped his hand. “The first step is forgiving yourself. You were blinded by grief.”

“Much like Willow,” he countered. “And you yourself said the best measure was to end her life.”

“You’re not Willow!” she snapped. “You didn’t try and destroy the world.”

“Didn’t I? Isn’t that exactly what would have happened if that bracelet had harnessed Rosalie’s power? Somehow I must’ve known that would have killed her. I was on the sodding Watchers Council, Sabrina.”

“Nope.” She wasn’t going to listen to this. “Not the same. You have seen the error of your ways. And even so with Willow, killing her is hopefully the last resort.”

He looked ready to argue, but she leaned over and kissed him once again. This one was shorter and with a lot less tongue. “Hair,” she muttered as she stepped back.

“I know,” he said with an eye roll. “We already established I’m a mess, love.”

Holy fuck, she melted at the word. She caught herself from lunging herself into him arms by remembering that was a pretty common British nickname. It still felt hella sexy though. She smirked. “I need your hair for the spell, you dirty boy.”

“Oh,” he said in realization before the corner of his mouth tilted in amusement. “The spell.”

They scrambled about for scissors before Wes settled for using a knife to cut a small chunk of hair from his head. They found a box of sandwich bags in the kitchen and she secured the official reason for her visit in her pocket. “I don’t suppose you have time to stay,” Wes said afterward. “I could shower and we could…”

She wanted nothing more. “I can’t,” she said, unable to hide her bitter disappointment.

“I know.” He gave her a sad smile and a nod before placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her against him for one final kiss.

All too soon reality overcame desire and they separated. “Good luck,” Wes said in farewell.

“Stay safe,” she said before turning around and walking out the door. She blinked back the tears she wanted to hide.

Shakespeare was pretty right about parting being such sweet sorrow.

*~*~*

Dean jumped a little when Nick slammed a book down on the table. “Bloody hell,” he grumbled.

“You find something?” Sam asked.

“No. Quite the opposite.” Nick sighed and stood up. “As unimportant as it sounds, I have to go serve demons alcohol now.”

“Crap,” Dawn muttered as she flopped her book on the table. “Bar opens in twenty.”

“Yes,” Nick replied. “Which means there’s a cranky green man sending angry texts as we speak.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on his girlfriend’s lips. “Feel free to figure everything out while I’m at work.”

“Uh oh,” Buffy said, turning to give a guilty look to Giles. “Bar time means Slayer duty starts.”

“Thank god,” Faith replied, shutting her book. “Honestly, I’d stopped reading about half an hour ago.”

Dean bit his cheek. He knew that because that had been about the time she’d started reaching under the table to pinch his thigh. It was hard to pretend to be still when you were trying to beat a girl at footsie. Especially when the chick was stronger. He’d wanted to reach over and shove her starting about ten minutes ago.

“Very well,” Giles huffed. “Mary and I will remain here. The stupid angel can deal with the stupid bugger if he gets out of line.”

“And me,” Sam spoke. “Not like I’m going to the cantina anytime soon.”

Dean snickered as he stood up and gave his brother a slap on the back. “I’ll have a cold one in memory of the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Drunk at least.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said, snatching his arm. “Where the fuck are _you_ going? You don’t have work or slaying to do.”

“I’m gonna _work_ on _slaying _me a dozen bottles of beer. I’ve had a fucking rough couple of days, no thanks to a very untimely visit from Crowley arranged by you. I am throwing a few back and throwing a few down on the karaoke machine.” He smirked as he pulled his arm out of Sam’s reach. “Besides, we all know I stopped reading way more than half an hour ago.”

While Hunter and Dawn scrammed to the bar, the Slayers hastened to change into ass-kicking apparel. Dean and Spike went to kitchen to wait and grab some nourishment. While the vampire started warming up a couple bags of blood, Dean settled for a ham sandwich and an unopened bag of Lays.

“Mmm,” Dean said after assembling his dinner and taking a large bite. “Food.”

“Funny how you forget to eat when you’re saving the world,” Spike joked as he ripped open his bag and drank it straight. At least Buffy usually had the decency to hide hers in a mug. “Or shagging a bird on the regular.”

Dean almost did a Mama Cas. He coughed as he attempted to keep from inhaling ham into his lungs.

Spike just snickered. “Please, like you two don’t reek of sex. Did she spit or swallow that load you popped off in the car?”

“What, B need some tips?” Faith said as she barreled into the room, making a beeline to the sandwich fixings on the table.

“Thanks for your concern,” the eldest slayer said seconds later as she entered the kitchen. “Pretty sure Spike was being more nosy perv than envious. Unless he needs another one today.”

“I _always_ need another, love,” her mate teased as he tossed her a bag of blood.

“Gross,” Rosalie remarked as she came into the room. She didn’t stop as she pushed Dean aside to make her own sandwich. “Let’s save the copulation tales until after I ingest some dinner.”

Dean had to note with amusement how much things had changed the past couple months. Life had gone from years of him and Sam living on their own before Cas had raised him from Hell and entered their family and Mom had been pulled from Heaven by Amara. Now, he’d inherited a bunker full of wayward slayers, watchers and one very entertaining vampire. It was kinda like they had formed a new, blended dysfunctional family. Most of the time he actually enjoyed it, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Hey,” he said after Buffy crushed a couple handfuls of Lays into her bloody glass. “Don’t eat all the chips.”

They finished off the bag and the rest of their meals before heading out to the garage.

“Uhhh…” Dean hesitated when Rosalie followed him and Faith over to Baby. “You might wanna ride with Spike and B. Not sure how sanitary the backseat is at the moment.”

Rosalie gave a look of disgust. “Guessing you two had some car nookie?”

“Well, yeah,” Faith drawled as she opened the passenger door. “But we did it back there before we left for hunting. Pretty sure he means the blood from my earlier battle with a tour bus.” She paused. “Or the demon jizz from that asshole Crowley.”

“Eww,” Rosalie said, wrinkling her nose. “You win.” She turned to make her way to the Oldsmobile.

Dean heard Spike’s roar of laughter before he remembered the present he’d left him in the driver’s seat. Snickering, Dean slipped in the car and gave Faith a devilish grin.

“You making a pass?” Spike inquired as he leaned his face down into the Impala next to Dean, tossing back the dirty boxer briefs he’d left in offering.

Faith burst into hysterics as she figured out the joke.

This only served to make Dean more obnoxious. “Well, you do have amazing cheekbones.”

“And you’re mighty pretty yourself, mate,” Spike teased with a playful pat on Dean’s chest. “Next time just ask before throwing your knickers my way.”

As Spike shuffled off, Faith turned to him with tears of laughter glinting her eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

He giggled back. “The magical tale of Sam Winchester: Panty Snatcher is worthy of repeat. I think I’ll write it in one of the books when we get back so future generations can relish in his drunken stupidity.”

“Why do I encourage you?” Faith asked herself, failing at sounding anything other than amused.

“Because, baby, you’re kinda a dick too.” He gave her a wink. “One of your cuter qualities when it’s not aimed my direction.”

“Shut up and drive, you vampire flirt.”

“Well, you’re pretty warm-natured when you sleep. Vamps do have that cold, dead thing working for them.” He reached over and squeezed her thigh as he teased. “But I guess the rest of the time I prefer you hot.”

She laid her palm atop his hand. “Just remember, next orgasm is mine, Ducky. Don’t get too drunk to get it up later.”

He slid his fingers over a little closer to the apex of her thighs. “Don’t worry, Miss Kitty. Ducky will make you purr.”

“Stop it,” she said, shoving his hand off her. “Last thing I need is B talking about smelling my snatch or something.”

“I’d like to smell your snatch again,” he said, unable to resist messing with her.

“I’ll even let you taste it if you’re a good ducky and stop flapping your bill.”

Damn. This had been a rollercoaster of a day. Hopefully it would end as good as it had started.

*~*~*

Nick looked around Rosa Lee’s Cantina with pride at his many weeks of hard work. It was really satisfying seeing something he’d built from the ground up actually turn out as planned. It gave him hope that this latest apocalypse could be averted. Maybe he could even get the bloody courage to ask Rose to marry him one day.

“What’s your cheapest blood?” a Chaos demon gargled at him as Nick stood behind the bar.

“Bovine,” he informed dryly. Certain customers were more pleasant to see than others.

But money was money and currently he and Dawn were the sole breadwinners of honest income, along with Sam and his takeover of Nick’s old job. Thought of the Council reminded him he wanted to have a word at some point with Rose and the other ladies. It was the twenty-first century and long gone were the days where women lived by the grace of a man supporting them. Slayers deserved more money than anyone over in England and these three in particular deserved a whole bloody lot of back pay.

“Hey there, handsome.”

He looked up at his Rose with a loving smile. Her standing at the bar made the Chaos demon more tolerable just on principle. “And what might you like, m’lady?”

“Scotch on the rocks.”

Nick barked a laugh. “I watched you gag on Jack and Coke. Straight scotch might melt your throat.” He started making her another Shirley Temple, but slipped a little Rum in the glass when he thought nobody was looking.

“You’re a naughty boy,” Buffy teased as she hopped up on a barstool. “Gimme one with more rum.”

He’d just finished Buffy’s drink when Faith sauntered up. “How hard you hitting tonight?” he asked.

To the untrained eye, Faith might have come across as thoroughly bored or possibly invested in her work patrolling the joint. Considering he saw the way her eyes kept pausing on the guy chatting with Lorne by the stage, Nick knew better. The woman was scoping out Dean Winchester. He was a bit impressed she’d hung around him a week and hadn’t yet cut him off or started looking for another piece of man. “Beer,” she said absently, keeping her peripheral in Dean range.

Dean took the karaoke machine over shortly after and began in on the classic “Witchy Woman”. Nick again noted that Faith snickered at the start, but was watching with interest as the elder Winchester belted out the words. Nick also had to admit that Dean had a surprisingly nice set of vocals.

_“Well, I know you want a lover. Let me tell you, brother, she’s been sleeping in the devil's bed. And there's some rumors going round, someone's underground. She can rock you in the night-time 'til your skin turns red.”_

As he hit the chorus once more, Nick had to pry. “He talking about you or Willow?”

Faith turned and flashed him a smirk. “I was assuming Red, but there’s some scratch marks on his back that might tell a different tale.”

“Which reminds me,” Buffy teased, “let me get another one of these drinks before I begin my told ya so dance.”

“Let me get a couple more beers and we can go outside and I can begin my ass-kicking dance.”

Spike rushed up to the bar and grabbed Buffy’s drink then finished it in a single gulp. “Thanks, love,” he said a little breathlessly before giving her a quick peck on the lips.

“Did you bite something icky?” Rose mused.

“Made a bit of a deal with my new backup shag.” He gave Buffy a playful wink before turning to head to the stage.

All three girls cracked up in a way the let Nick know he had missed the joke. “Was he talking about _Dean_?”

Rosalie cackled and Faith snickered. “Looks like Sonny and Cher are gonna do a duet.”

Buffy giggled. “You know you’re sleeping with Cher in this scenario.”

“Obviously,” Faith countered with shrug.

Nick couldn’t help but snort when the chords of Bob Jovi’s “Dead or Alive” began to play. The irony of a hunter and a vampire singing they were _“wanted dead or alive” _was almost as cheesy as the bar name.

“Wow,” Buffy said in the end, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “We’ve all found ourselves some dorky boys.”

“Yeah,” Rose said sweetly, looking over to Nick. “Pretty sure mine’s the dorkiest.”

“Agreed,” Faith and Buffy said in unison before breaking off into snickers.

Interesting… Not the part where he’d been deemed the king of the dorks. He had a Star Wars tattoo on his ass that basically solidified his spot. But he noticed a distinct lack of protest from Faith at calling Dean ‘her boy.’

Yes, very interesting indeed.


	34. Chapter 34

The second Sabrina Deanne entered the Governor’s Mansion, Sam decided that he’d made a mistake. No matter what Josh or Zack had said, no matter how _sensible _it was, giving audience to the person who had suggested killing Willow went against every instinct in his body.

Were it not for the fact that he was pretty sure she could turn him into a ferret, he might have physically rushed the woman. Or shoved her out of the window. The press would eat that up.

As if sensing his thoughts, Zack Morris clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder and applied enough pressure to ensure he remained seated.

The room was full of people on his side, Sam knew. Zack Wright, Cordelia Chase, and Kelly Morris had all ventured over to hear what the witch had to say, having left the other demon hunter and their live-in nurse behind to watch the kids. Donna, Josh, and Toby—the latter of whom was on his way to shitfaced—were there as well. The only people missing were the Hogwarts contingency, but Sam suspected this much was by design.

Sabrina at least had the good sense to look nervous, and at that, Sam felt a begrudging amount of respect for the woman. It couldn’t be easy coming into a place where you knew you were the least popular person. But she was here anyway, head held high.

“Thank you for requesting this meeting,” Sabrina said. She lowered her handbag to the ground, then withdrew her wand and held it up. “I’m holding onto this just for my own personal protection.” She tucked it into her back pocket. “That is all.”

“Think we’re gonna attack you?” Wright demanded. “Must not have the best news to share.”

“We’re beyond the point of _news_, Mr. Wright,” Sabrina replied coolly. “As I told Mr. Lyman on the phone, the situation has advanced beyond my purview. Especially now that the senior partner Willow Rosenberg has allied with is Lucifer.”

Toby released a shrill giggle at this, then snorted when everyone looked at him.

“There are many things we don’t know,” Sabrina continued after giving the man a long and not-undeserved side-eye. “We can assume based on the phone call Mr. Seaborn received from Willow that she is not being held hostage. That she believes she is working for the greater good. Unfortunately, there is a precedent with Wolfram and Hart manipulating emotionally compromised people into assuming their actions are also for the greater good…” She glanced to Wright. “As I believe you know.”

“So you’re here to score sympathy points for Wes.”

“He made a terrible mistake and he is aware of it.”

“There are _mistakes _and then there’s trying to kill my daughter. Or using my other daughter as collateral.”

“Wesley didn’t—”

“Look, lady, I don’t care that you’re banging him. Go right the fuck ahead. The women who end up screwing Wes tend to not live very long, and I doubt anyone here would really miss you if you keep up the tradition.”

Sam winced at that, surprising himself. Despite the fact that he’d been promising anyone with ears that he would kill Sabrina Deanne the first chance he got, Wright’s statement seemed a bit…well, mean.

Sabrina’s cheeks pinked but she didn’t respond by sending a curse in Wright’s direction, which had to say something for her sense of self-awareness.

“I am not here to discuss Wesley,” Sabrina said with as much dignity as a woman facing a firing squad could muster. “I’m here to let you know that Harry Potter and I will be infiltrating MACUSA.” She swallowed. “I am about to break national and international magical laws because I want to help Willow.”

“Don’t you mean kill?” Sam spat at this—he couldn’t help himself. “Because that was the plan, wasn’t it? Kill the mother of my child?”

Sabrina pressed her lips together, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she looked at him head-on. “Yes, it was,” she said. “I had every reason to believe MACUSA would respond to the news that she had performed that scale of magic and was potentially unstable by firing everything they had at her. I also had reason to believe that Willow would respond in-kind. The only way to stop full-scale destruction of both our worlds, Mr. Governor, would be to eliminate one of those fire-powers. Being that one such fire-power was a government entity and the other was a single person, the choice was clear. I never _wanted _to kill Willow. I don’t want to kill anyone. Fuck, if we’re being honest, I don’t _want _to be here. But ever since I was sent to ensure the threat posed by all of you was contained, I have learned things about my government and about NoMajes that… Well, I believe MACUSA is corrupt. I believe Wolfram and Hart is running the show. And they have been for a long time. Quite frankly, I believe everything I thought I knew was a lie concocted to keep the magical population in line. I’m not sorry I suggested killing Willow—my goal was to save lives, Magical and NoMaj alike, from destruction that would make the bombs _your_ government dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki look like child’s play. I am, however, very grateful to not pursue that course of action.”

“Okay, say that’s true,” Zack said, again squeezing Sam’s shoulder so tightly he couldn’t move. “What does knowing this have to do with helping Willow?”

“Exposing MACUSA’s corruption means changing the tide of public opinion against NoMaj witches and wizards, and all other manner of nonhuman creature,” Sabrina said. “Because if Willow is successful in whatever Wolfram and Hart have her doing in Kansas, if she conducts magic that endangers others, MACUSA can _at their leisure _use this as a rally point to stifle all NoMaj magical users and worse. Wolfram and Hart only protects those that protect their own interests—so vampires, for instance, whose interests are against Wolfram and Hart might have the full power of the magical government bearing down on them. I know you and your wife, as well as two other vampires, have rings that keep you from harm. Those rings can be removed. If MACUSA is emboldened to publicly pursue this, they will be able to justify about anything. Understanding their ties to Wolfram and Hart gives us ammunition for when they inevitably tire of Willow and set their sights elsewhere.”

There was nothing for a moment. Sam felt Zack’s hand relax a fraction. “Okay,” the vampire said. “That’s a good reason.”

“Thank you. I thought so.” Sabrina shifted her gaze to Sam. “Harry will be posing as a visiting official from the Ministry of Magic. Hermione Granger-Weasley will be posing as Harry Potter to give a talk to our government’s officials to help break down some of the stereotypes held by our people.”

“Harry’s…not going to speak for Harry?”

Kelly Morris snorted. “Hermione’d be better at it.”

Sabrina nodded at Hermione. “This was their belief as well. For our purposes, Harry will be assuming the face of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”

Wright snarled. “So you are in contact with him.”

“I am, yes.”

Sam had to admit—he was a bit impressed by the way she owned this without batting an eye. Whatever else, she truly believed in Wesley. That was…interesting.

Sabrina shifted her attention back to Sam. “We will need a safe place to Apparate once we have broken into MACUSA’s archives. We can’t go to my place or to Harry’s, as both will be among the top locations MACUSA will search if they catch wise to what we’re doing. I am asking you to allow us to come here.”

Sam felt all eyes in the room fall on him, and realized that he’d arrived at a cross-roads without meaning to. The choice was clear—he could either hold onto his rage and resentment or he could put that behind him, no matter how difficult it was.

This was larger than him. Larger than Willow and Oz. It was about the future of people like the vampire at his side and untold millions more like them.

“Yes,” Sam said hoarsely. “Whatever you need.”

He felt rather than saw Josh relax. Zack clapped him once on the shoulder to express his thanks.

Sabrina smiled—a genuine smile that made her look rather beautiful. “Thank you, Mr. Governor. This may be the start of a brave new world.”

*~*~*

Honestly, Dean hadn’t set out to listen in on anyone’s conversation. He was an honest guy trying to get honestly drunk, and he’d honestly needed to drain the lizard. So what if that took him right past Faith, who had parked her sexy ass at the bar in front of her old fuck buddy and hadn’t moved. Didn’t matter to him. He was glad the two were reconnecting.

After he and the vamp had finished serenading the room, Spike had been dragged off by Buffy, who had volunteered them to take the first patrol shift since Faith had nearly died earlier that day. Which was nice and considerate of her. Faith had waved her off, then resumed her conversation with Nick. And given the fact that the mini-slayer didn’t seem too bothered by the attention, that definitely meant Dean shouldn’t give a fuck that two old fuck buddies were shooting the shit. Rosalie was a teenage girl and in love for the first time, so her freak out was to be expected.

Dean was not a teenage girl. He would not act like one. So he’d done the decent thing, parked his ass on the opposite end of the bar to give the two old buddies—_fuck _buddies—some space. Dawn kept the well filled and that was all a guy could ask for. Though he didn’t know that he cared for the somewhat pitying looks the girl kept throwing his way, like he was some pathetic, pining guy who pined pathetically. Which he wasn’t.

He also hadn’t meant to stop like a creeper in the fucking hallway the second he heard his name, but once he realized Nick was asking Faith about him, well, no one was perfect.

“So, you and Dean Winchester…”

There was a long pause. He couldn’t see her face, but imagined her giving her old _fuck _buddy that narrowed look she so often gave him.

“That a question or a statement?” she drawled at last. “’Cause if it’s a question, it’s missing the second half.”

“I’m just curious. I’ve never seen you like this.”

That much certainly did not have Dean’s heart reacting in any way whatsoever. Nope. Just the regular thumping. Keeping blood flowing through his body like a good organ.

Faith snickered. “You haven’t really seen me much at all,” she fired back. “There was the night I came back and I’ve been on the road since then. So yeah, maybe you caught him perving on my naked ass then. Boy’s human, Nick.”

“But you’re sleeping with him.”

“Yeah, and you outta everyone should know how seriously I take sex.”

Dean’s heart still didn’t react, but if it had, it definitely wouldn’t have given a whimper at that reminder. Nope.

“So you’re not… It’s not more than just sex, is it?”

“Well, look at you, getting all up in my business.”

“Well, look at you,” Nick shot back, sounding particularly British, “avoiding the question.”

“Nicky, I will wipe that smug ass look off your face so fast—”

“And defensive! Did I hit a mark?”

“I’m gonna hit something here in a second,” she muttered, almost too low for Dean to hear. Almost, but not enough. “You’re as bad as B, you know?”

“Yeah, well, I have the added luxury of knowing you a bit better than she does.” Nick laughed—presumably at a look Faith had thrown him. “What? She’s working off old data. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you two seem to actually be friends now—”

“Cue sappy music—”

“But she doesn’t know you like I do. Not yet, at least. So yes, I can see her playing kissy face with you two even if there was nothing there. Think being all mated up has made her a romantic.”

“Buffy’s always been a romantic,” came a new voice. This one belonging to Dawn. “Ask Faith. She should know.”

There was a pause. Dean could have sworn he felt the sigh that rattled through Faith at that. “Dawn.”

“But _I _see it too,” Nick said. “That’s the point.”

“Well, Dean’s a lot like Spike,” Dawn said somewhat flippantly. “And Faith _does _have a thing about stealing my sister’s boyfriends…”

Nick groaned. “Dawn, we really don’t—”

“Naw, let the kid talk. Eventually that chip on her shoulder’ll fall off.”

That was it. Dean made a point of clearing his throat and stepping—or swaying—forward. He offered a grin when Faith met his eyes, and he wasn’t so tipsy he thought he’d imagined the relief in her gaze.

“I do not have a chip on my shoulder,” Dawn snapped back, not bothering to acknowledge Dean’s presence. “Unless you’re telling me you didn’t try to fuck Angel’s soul right out of him just because he and Buffy were a _thing_? That you didn’t bone Buffy’s boyfriend the second you did that body-swap thing? Pretty sure Spike’s said you came onto him too.”

“You know, Dawnie,” Faith said, and Dean saw she was straining to maintain her temper, “if big sis is willing to let bygones be bygones, maybe you oughta, I dunno, move on.”

“I dunno,” Dawn replied, crossing her arms. “Maybe it’s just a Summers thing. You obviously can’t make a play for Spike again. He’d laugh your ass outta town and that’s not even taking the claim into consideration. But you’ve already tried to get Sam into bed.”

Dean couldn’t help it, he jerked a bit as his somewhat sluggish brain tried to recall whether or not he’d known this much before. And the larger, less secure and more teenage-girl part of him wondered just when this propositioning had occurred.

Faith rolled her eyes. “Honey, I didn’t try anything. I told him I needed to fight or I needed to fuck. He was free to help out with either. He decided to throw the angel at me.”

“Who you proceeded to bone. Back from the dead for what, an hour, and already whoring it up then?”

Okay. So this had happened the night she’d popped into the Impala. Dean felt himself relax, but only slightly. The thought that Sammy might have taken Faith up on her offer had his gut feeling the wrong kind of twisty.

“Dawn,” Nick said, his tone even and measured, “might be a good time to remind you that Faith’s my friend and I’m your boss. Go find some customers to serve.”

Faith snickered. “Don’t need protection, Nicky, but thanks. And Dawnie… It’s kinda nice, actually, seeing that the stick that used to be up B’s ass found a new home. You do big sis proud and keep it nice and safe.”

Without so much as a backward glance, she shoved off from the bar and strolled to the stage, ignoring the line of patrons waiting to take their turn at the mic. She marched right up to Lorne, pulled him down to tell him something, then all but shoved the ugly-ass motherfucker who was currently belting out “My Heart Will Go On” to the side, and earned a modest round of applause for her effort.

The demon she’d interrupted snarled at her, but then seemed to recognize her and raised its hands in supplication.

Celine Dion was abruptly replaced by a hard, pounding guitar riff, but it wasn’t until Faith eyed the mic like she wanted to kick its ass that Dean realized she actually meant to sing.

And it wasn’t until she actually started singing that he realized how hot he’d find it.

_“I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation,”_ she sang-screamed into the mic. Faith’s voice was the right combination of husky and lyrical. _“You're living in the past, it's a new generation. A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do. And I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation.”_

Nick turned to Dawn, eyebrows arched. “Think she’s trying to make a point.”

Yeah, Dean agreed. Only it was a point he didn’t believe—not drunk or sober. The time he’d spent with her over the past week had pretty much proved to him she did care a lot about what people thought of her. She might not like that she cared, but she did. She also thought she deserved whatever shit was lobbed her way on a level he knew intimately. Whoever she’d been wasn’t who she was now, but she’d be making amends until she kicked it in a permanent way.

Dawn snickered, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “She just better watch herself.”

In that moment, he thought he might hate Dawn. Which, considering she and Sam had finally stopped dancing around each other and gone for it, probably wasn’t the best thing.

_“I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation,”_ Faith sang, looking directly at Dawn. _“You're living in the past, it's a new generation. And I only feel good when I got no pain and that’s how I’m gonna stay. And I don't give a damn about my bad reputation. Oh no, not me. Oh no, not. Not me, not me.”_

As the song wound down, Faith turned and tossed Lorne her mic. She ignored the applause that broke out across the place, hopped off the stage, and made a beeline for Rosalie.

“Hey, kid,” she said. “Wanna go kill things?”

Rosalie’s face lit up. “Hell yeah! Like old times.”

Faith grinned. “Just like ‘em.”

Rosalie squealed and jumped down from the barstool. “Lemme go grab my stake.” She was in motion before she stopped talking, all teenage girl.

The second she was out of earshot, Nick leaned forward, his expression concerned. “Not _just _like old times, right?”

“Well, I ain’t hoppin’ in your bed after we’re done, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dawn sniffed but didn’t say anything. Dean reminded himself it was considered bad manners to kill his brother’s girlfriend.

“Of course that’s not…” Nick blinked, searching for words. “You’re reckless with her!”

Faith rolled her eyes. “She’s alive, ain’t she?”

“That’s not—”

“Nicky, I didn’t let my ass go up like a firecracker just to watch her die in fucking _Kansas_. I’ll bring her home in one piece.”

Yeah, well, this morning Faith had almost died in fucking Kansas. How she could go from the wreckage of a thing she’d been to so confident it oozed off her, Dean didn’t know. But he didn’t love the idea of her heading out.

“Baby, you had a close call this morning,” he said, getting her to look at him for the first time since he’d stepped out of the hallway. “Maybe you oughta take it easy.”

He decided to ignore Nick’s answering snicker.

Faith favored him with that narrowed look of hers. “Cas patched me up just fine.”

“We don’t know where Willow or Lucifer are,” he felt compelled to add. “Could show up anywhere.”

“That’s true in here or out there. Not about to let the devil get in my way.” She studied him a moment before leaning in, “I’m good, Ducky. Okay?”

Yeah, that didn’t make him feel a whole lot better. But he knew he wasn’t going to win this one.

“Sam hasn’t let me patrol with this,” Rosalie announced as she rounded the bar, running with a double-headed battle ax. Which, in Dean’s opinion, made Sam’s reluctance to let her play with it only sensible. “But I am _so _decapitating some assholes tonight.”

Nick actually whimpered.

Faith grinned, threw her arm around Rosalie’s shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Let’s go let B and Blondie punch out for the night. How about it?”

“Let’s just hope they left us some good kills,” Rosalie agreed, practically vibrating with energy. “I can’t wait to see this thing in action.”

*~*~*

“This thing sucks.”

Faith managed to kill her snicker, but only just. As it turned out, the reason Sam hadn’t let the little slayer out with the ax was the ax’s head didn’t want to stay with the ax’s body. Every time Rosalie pulled back, like a batter at the ready, the head went swinging in the other direction. Which wasn’t without its uses—she’d actually wounded a vamp. Granted, she’d also provided said vamp with a lethal projectile weapon, but the wounding of the vamp was the focus of the night.

Better than the bullshit back at the cantina. God, she was so fucking tired. Tired of answering for crimes that were more than ten years in the past, feeling like she owed it to B or Dawn or, hell, maybe the world to continue to atone for things she’d just as soon forget. But Dawn had been a kid when most of the shit had gone down, and Faith knew better than most how those formative years could shape a person.

Plus, there’d been that time Faith had busted into Revello Drive, tied up Joyce and kid sis and threatened to kill them both. Dawnie had been a little thing then, thirteen or fourteen.

Except she hadn’t been. She hadn’t even been there—not really. She’d still been a glowing green ball of energy without consciousness or a concept of self. The memories Faith had of holding a pint-sized Summers at knife-point had been planted there by a bunch of holy monks who had decided to make the Key even more holier-than-thou than the Slayer she’d been modeled after.

“Faith, behind you!”

Faith dropped on instinct, swinging her leg out to knock whatever was back there off its feet. The snarling face of a vampire greeted her when she turned.

“Ro, toss me the ax.”

“I don’t—”

“Just what’s left of it.”

Rosalie did, and Faith plunged the rounded, wooden end into the vamp’s chest cavity. It took a bit more muscle, but she was glad to offer it. Gladder still when the vamp’s eyes went wide and he crumbled to dust.

“Ouch,” Rosalie said, rubbing her chest. “That had to—”

But the air split with the sound of a struggle, and Faith and Rosalie were on the move. For some reason, she wasn’t surprised when she rounded a gravestone and found Dean Winchester struggling with a vamp. And not doing a very good job of it, considering he was too drunk to walk straight, much less fight the evil undead.

“All good?” she asked, strolling up.

Dean, who was on his back, turned his head toward the sound of her voice and favored her with a very silly smile. “Miss Kitty, fancy seein’—”

“Dean!” The idiot had left his jugular exposed. Faith ran at the vamp and tackled it to the ground. When it was dust, she grumbled and flipped herself to her feet, then turned to her ducky. “What the fuck?”

“I softened him up for you.” Dean struggled to stand, wobbling a bit. “Thought I’d see how things were out here.”

“My ax sucks,” Rosalie said by way of greeting. “And that was the fourth vamp of the night. Spike and Buffy cleared out all the good ones. I think I might head back.”

Faith turned to the kid, her brow furrowing. They hadn’t talked much and about nothing important. Seemed Ro was a bit gun-shy about all that had happened before, and Faith couldn’t blame her. She viewed that as in the rearview, but hoped they would be back to their old rhythm soon. Those things took time, she supposed.

“I’ll walk you,” Faith said.

Rosalie looked offended. “It’s two blocks away and I’m the Slayer.”

“It’s the fucking Hellmouth and I died for your ass.” Faith grabbed Dean by the arm. “We’re all going. Now.”

“Kitty’s got claws,” Dean said with a giggle.

Rosalie didn’t put up any more of a fight, which was good because Faith was all fought out. She moped into Rosa Lee’s Cantina with the remains of her ax after giving Faith one final hug—the girl was all hugs today, it seemed—and left her walking Dean to the Impala.

“I am in no condition to drive,” Dean told her like it was breaking news.

“No shit.”

“Keys are in my front pocket, Miss Kitty.”

Faith blinked and paused to look at him. “You tellin’ me for a reason?”

“So you can take my drunk ass home.”

“Huh. So _this _is what it takes to get you to let me drive the car.” She slid a hand into his front pocket and snatched up the keys. “Wounded and in need of pain meds and food? No. Toasted off your ass? Yes.”

“Not completely toasted,” Dean replied, doing a little dance over to the passenger’s side. Then he stopped, adopted a serious look, and said, “My baby, meet my Baby. You both service me well, in very different ways. Be good to each other, you hear?”

Faith bristled, trying to ignore the warm feeling in her chest. “Into the car, Romeo.”

“What happened to Ducky?”

“He had a fuckton to drink.”

Dean giggled again and nodded before dropping into the passenger side. “Not too much that I forgot I owe you one,” he said when they were both in the car. Then his gaze dropped to her crotch. “Never done road head this way, but I’m willing to try.”

Yeah, because the way to get Dean to let her drive the Impala sober was to wreck it while he tried to find her clit with his tongue. Faith shook her head and shoved him back to his side of the car. Then, feeling somewhat devious, met his gaze as she inserted the key into the ignition. “I’m penetrating your car, Ducky.”

His eyes clouded over. “That is so…wrong. But hot.”

“And stroking her wheel…”

“Oh yeah. Liking this more.”

“You don’t mind if I take her for a joyride, do you?”

“Do you wanna fuck my brother?”

Well, that certainly came from nowhere and killed the mood. Faith rolled her head back, pressing her eyes closed. “What?”

“Back in the bar, Dawn said—”

“I know what Dawn said. Are you shitting me with this?”

“There might’ve been…words after you left. Nick might’ve told me it was in my best interest to leave.”

Great. That was just what she needed. Faith released a long breath.

“I think we can salvage this thing if you go tell Dawn you wanna fuck me and not my little brother.” A pause. “You don't want to fuck Sammy, right? And you do still wanna fuck me, right?”

“At the moment or ever again?”

“Well… I just started thinkin’ about…how it was that you and I started up in the first place.”

Yeah, she’d been thinking about that too. Particularly tonight when she and Rosalie had passed the crypt where Dean had given her the first of many orgasms. “What about it?”

“It’s like you said, right? Sammy could’ve scratched that itch but he didn’t.”

“Yeah…”

“And then with Cas…” He waited. “And a couple of nights later, you told me you’d go find Sammy since you and I were done.”

Faith hissed out a long breath and let her head drop again. “I said that shit because you’d pissed me off.”

“I had?”

“Ducky, you were about some vamp bitch’s snack that night, remember?”

“I remember and Sammy being awfully chummy on the dance floor. Just saying if this is a thing with you and Dawn, or you and Buffy, or—”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Having this conversation with you while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not _that _drunk.” There was a beat. “Just go tell Dawn—”

“No, stop it. I'm not gonna tell Dawn I'm not going to fuck your brother.”

Another beat. This time when he spoke, his voice was soft. “Because you wanna fuck him?”

Faith tightened her grip on the steering wheel, then loosened it, reminding herself that she wouldn’t score any points if she tore it right off the dash. “No, Dean, because I'm not fucking twelve. I don't wanna fuck him and I think my not trying to fuck him will get the message across all on its own.”

“Would you wanna fuck him if he wasn't with Dawn?”

“Question: are you still an option in this scenario?”

“Uhh, yes.”

“Then I think I'll pass, but thanks for lending out your brother's dick.” Faith turned the ignition and listened to the familiar purr of the engine. “And just for asking a bunch of stupid ass questions, I’m taking Baby for a joyride.”

“Dunno how I feel about this…”

“Tough shit. Then we’re going to the bunker, you’re going to stick your tongue up my cunt, then we’re watching one of the Chucky movies you bought the other day.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed like he was trying to do long division in his head. Then gave an exaggerated nod and flashed that drunken grin at her. “Sounds like an _excellent _plan.”

Faith studied him for a moment and felt herself soften, remembering the way he’d looked at her that afternoon in the shower. It seemed days in the past already, but it had only been a few hours. Then there had been everything that came with it—a slew of questions she wasn’t ready to answer or even unpack.

Still, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice low.

She thought about it for a moment. “For me. Now buckle in, Ducky. Miss Kitty’s about to see what Baby can do.”

“Please, go easy on her.”

Faith tossed him a grin. “I’ll go easier on her than I will on you later.”

“Babe, that’s not saying much.”

“Yeah, but she’s a tough girl. She can handle whatever’s thrown at her.” She winked at him. “You’ve got a type.”

“You’re fucking telling me.”


	35. Chapter 35

Sabrina had many fine qualities—her intelligence, her exceptional charm casting, her ability to mingle among NoMajes easier than most and she was the two time champion of the office dancing competition—acting was never her strong suit. A least not lying. At least not lying to her entire network of colleagues.

She came into the office early. Her scheme was relatively simplistic, which always seemed best in her opinion. Aurors did not require permission to receive potions from a distributing agent, therefore nobody should question hard as to why she went down to the dispensary before regular operating hours.

She sniffed a bit as she greeted various passersby, wiping her nose and coughing a couple times. Her form said she was taking out an elixir to cure a NoMaj sinus infection. She planned to nab two bottles of Polyjuice Potion before she walked back to her office and texted Hermione.

She stopped by her office to quickly fill out an authorization form to leave in the drop box before walking to the dispensary. Kicking herself for forgetting her bag, she left the form and grabbed the medicinal elixir she’d requested. Then, as there was nobody to witness, she went to the more regulated section and snatched two Polyjuice Potions for Harry and Hermione. She tucked them beneath her blouse and under each arm before making a hasty exit.

She released a sigh of relief as she rounded the final corner to her office. She ran smack dab into Percy Weasley, the force of the impact causing one bottle of Polyjuice to slip and fall to the floor between them. “Shit,” she hissed as she began to bend down and grab it, but he was much quicker and picked it up and stashed it in his pocket.

“Miss Deanne,” he cocked his head. “Just who I was looking to see. Might we have a word in private?”

Oh my god. She’d ruined the plan before it even started. “Of course,” she said as she tried to maintain her composure.

The moment they shut the door inside the office, Percy blew her mind. He grabbed her, pulling her against his body in a fashion that made her believe he was about to force himself upon her. He had whipped his wand out and quickly muttered a stream of spells so low she couldn’t quite make them out. Once he was done speaking, he released her and took a sizable step back. “Apologies,” he muttered. “I disabled any spell or Muggle device that could monitor or record or speech or sight. If anyone asks, we merely state that we are having an affair.” He gave a sheepish smile. “My brother George has taught me a few tricks over the years.”

“Oh.” She was surprised and relieved. “So you talked to Harry? About the plan?”

“I knew it,” he declared, fishing out the Polyjuice and handing it to her. “When Hermione said Harry was volunteering to give a presentation, I immediately suspected something afoot.”

“Well, shit.” In the brief time she’d been around Percy he’d struck her as straight-laced as they could come. 

“I’m assuming this concerns Willow. I doubt anything less pressing would cause Harry and Hermione to risk a breach to the International Treaty of Magical Cooperation.”

“Yes. The plan in—”

He held up a hand, his eyes wide. “Don’t tell me! Any details I am obligated to report back to the Ministry.” He sighed. “I trust them with my life, quite literally. And I assume they will make a report to the Minister if there is any information deemed necessary to report.”

She gave him a look. “You don’t care that they’re spying basically. You just care they don’t get caught.”

“Toadmore reminds me of Minister Fudge. A very racist and bigoted Fudge. No, I’m not impressed with your government nor do I believe they have been fully honest with the Ministry.”

“Well, hopefully we can have some answers in a few hours.”

Percy nodded. “Tell Ron… Tell him I’m here if he needs me. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” He turned and placed his hand on the doorknob before looking back at Sabrina. “And please try to avoid word getting back to my wife. She’ll be severely brassed when I explain I forged an affair to save my brother.”

“Right,” she replied as he exited. Now let’s hope she could do the next part without screwing up.

*~*~*

Dean awoke with a throbbing headache and an onslaught of aching muscles and joints. He peeked open an eye to find he was staring at a puddle of drool on his pillow. Shifting his gaze he caught sight of the raven beauty sharing his bed. Oh yeah, he was tapping that.

He winced at the pain his smile brought him. It had been a long-ass time since he’d had a hangover. While he’d been dumb enough to stumble his way into a vamp-infested cemetery at night, he luckily had quit drinking in time to be able to recall the night with all of his memories intact yet fuzzy. Like the way he’d made Faith come on his tongue and his cock before passing out somewhere during the first part of _Child’s Play_.

Fuck if making her orgasm wasn’t his new favorite sport in life. Every time he thought the wheels were about to stop rolling between them they seemed to find another gear and take off again down this crazy road they were on together.

Looking at her now, he wanted to reach over and cop a cuddle, but decided she needed the rest. She could joke all she wanted, but nearly dying fucked with your head. Cas might be able to heal the body, but it didn’t do shit for the emotional toll that took out of you. She’d been running since she landed back on Earth. She deserved a fucking lazy morning.

He decided to be a gentleman. He’d go find a bottle of Tylenol and down it, maybe make her some breakfast and apologize for getting a little too sloshed last night. It was a solid plan. In theory.

Stealthily, he swung his leg back and down off the bed toward the floor. She looked pretty deep asleep and didn’t twitch as he felt the firmness of the floor. He’d hop up gracefully and make his way to find some clothes.

What he didn’t know was his feet were tangled in the fucking bedsheet. When he went to stand he was stuck in a web of cotton. He crashed to the floor was a thud just after his head cracked against his nightstand. He released an involuntary groan of pain as he reached up to check his forehead for blood.

Faith’s head popped over the edge of the bed to stare down at him. “Are you still drunk?”

He shut his eyes as new pain layered over his hangover. “I wish,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t hurt so bad.” He shuddered. “Or be as embarrassing.”

He heard her snicker. “Dean Winchester, bested by a bedsheet.”

“Fuck,” he grunted.

“Silly Ducky,” she teased before grasping his arm and tugging him up off the ground. Pathetically, he climbed back on the bed with a huff. “There, there,” she mocked before reaching over to kiss his brow.

“The worst part was that was me trying not to wake you,” he admitted pitifully.

She snorted. “Smooth move, Ex-lax.”

“Shut up.” He reached over to cop his cuddle now, pulling her down to his chest. He felt her stretch before she wrapped an arm around him. He slipped his own between her and the mattress to cradle her against him. “If anyone asks about the noise, it was rough morning sex.”

“Agreed,” she murmured before giving his nipple a playful nip. “Not explaining I just have a thunky ducky.”

“More like _hunky_.”

“Definitely _thunky_.”

“Go to sleep, woman.”

“Don’t boss me, bitch.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

Their banter got more slurred and quiet with every exchange until he felt himself falling back asleep. “So’s your face,” he muttered.

“That’s what she said,” Faith whispered groggily.

“Your momma…”

“Rubber and glue…”

He would have laughed, but his brain hit the snooze button and he was out like a light.

*~*~*

Dawn fluttered her eyes open to find an empty spot on the bed where she’d last seen Sam before drifting off to sleep. After coming home to finding him passed out on a stack of books, she’d led him to her bed where they had made love.

She hadn’t realized how hard it was to have quiet sex, but she really didn’t want any of the bunker’s occupants walking—or in the case of her overprotective brother, barging—in. Sober Sam was a whole lot better than drunk Sam though, and she’d done her fair share of screaming into a pillow last night.

That’s why it hurt so bad to see he’d left her. Last night had felt like it was their official first time, more than the back of a pickup with a guy who’d had trouble finding the right hole to stick his dick. What they shared in her bed was more personal. More special. At least it had been to her.

A flash of movement caught her eye. Across the room, sitting at her desk, was Sam. He wore nothing but his boxers and appeared to be reading a book with the light of his cellphone. All her earlier dismay vanished. Not only had he not left her, he was being a dork by not turning on the light.

“If you’re looking for tips, you can stop,” she teased. “You did a good enough job on your own.”

She saw him turn and flash her a guilty smile. “I’m sorry.” The light of the phone made him look boyishly adorable. “I woke up and remembered I was getting close to some information before I passed out.”

“Yeah, research fatigue is real.”

He picked up the book and walked over to sit next to her on the bed. Leaning down he gave her a slow, long kiss that left them breathless. “Round two?” she asked hopefully.

“Would I be an ass if I said hold on? I just found where they opened the Kansas Hellmouth.”

Rolling over, she switched on the lamp beside her bed. “Not an ass. If you figure out how to keep it from opening, I’ll reward you with a blowjob.”

Sam laughed at that. “Then don’t distract me.”

Dawn laid there watching him read. He was really hot as he furrowed his brow in concentration. Ever so often he’d give a small frown or make a slight noise of discontent. After close to five minutes her patience wore out. “Update?”

He blinked as he looked up at her, obviously trying to formulate his summary. “So, this is an account from one of the Men of Letters. While he doesn’t really explain _how_ it opened, he’s documenting all the bad that happened as a result. Actually, he’s just referenced a Slayer who has just arrived here with her watcher. She’s eighteen and named Cassandra Hart. This guy says he and the watcher have devised a plan.” He smiled. “That’s where I’m at.”

Dawn sat up beside him. “Read! It sounds like you’ve found it!”

He gave a slight chuckle before turning back to the text. After a minute he said, “Okay. So this guy—Larry Barrick—says that he and the watcher determined it could only be closed with…”

“With what?”

Sam shook his head. “No.” He flipped a page, scanning it frantically with his eyes. “No,” he repeated.

“Sam?” She did not like that look.

He shut the book abruptly. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

She gave him a narrowed look. “Liar.”

He shook his head and she could tell he was trembling. “Sam?” she asked, wrapping herself around his closest arm.

She heard him swallow. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because we won’t let them open it. They can’t get inside the bunker and down to the opening so it doesn’t matter.”

“Sam, you’re officially freaking me out. Tell me how they closed it.”

“It was blood, Dawnie. Slayer blood.”

Her heart stopped. “Like a cut?”

“Like she jumped in. Cassandra Hart closed the Hellmouth.”

They shared a long, terrified stare before Dawn’s brain blinked into action. “Giles! We gotta tell Giles!”

“Yes!” Sam said in hasty agreement.

They scrambled out of bed. Sam threw on his pants as she grabbed his T-shirt and slipped it on before grabbing her jeans. After Sam scooped up the book, they took off down the hall. Just as Sam was about to knock, a low deep moan sounded from the other side of the door followed by a small exclamation. “Oh, yes!”

Dawn grabbed his fist before it made contact. “Did you hear that?”

When she eyed him she could tell he had by the wide-eyed mortification of his face. “Is he…watching porn?”

There was another moan, this time followed by Giles saying, “That’s it,” in a husky groan.

“Did the Hellmouth open?” Dawn asked. “I think I’m in Hell.”

From behind the door, “Fuck…Rupert…_oh yes_!” sounded in a low, but distinctive female voice.

“Is that…” Dawn felt dirty at the thought. “Your _mom_?”

“Fuck,” Sam gasped. “We’re in Hell.”

“I don’t want to be in Hell,” Dawn said pitifully. “Make them stop.”

Sam turned to give her incredulous look. “You make them stop! Your…dad…is…my _mom!”_

“Is everything okay?” Castiel’s voice startled both her and Sam as he spoke directly behind them.

“No!” Dawn and Sam snapped in unison.

“Make them stop!” Dawn demanded.

Cas looked to the door for a moment before looking to Dawn with a blush. “You aren’t serious.”

“Deadly,” Dawn declared. “S-Sam figured out about the Hellmouth here.”

“I think it opened,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“No,” Cas responded. “It has not.”

“Beg to differ,” Dawn replied. “B-but Giles needs to stop—I mean needs to know.”

Castiel looked obviously reluctant to cross the threshold of Giles’ quarters. He cast a weary look at Sam. “You have actually found out how to stop the Hellmouth from opening?”

“More how to stop it if it does.”

Another set of noises from the other side of the room informed the hall occupants that there was still inappropriate sexual content in progress.

Hesitantly, Cas reached forward and tried to turn the knob. Once determining the door was locked, he gave Sam and Dawn a very unhappy look before vanishing. Approximately ten seconds later, two gunshots sounded from the bedroom.

“Sam and Dawn are outside,” Cas could be heard saying. “They have found information on the Hellmouth and asked me to…interrupt you.”

“I’ll shoot him again, Mary,” Giles growled.

“Get out, Cas!” Mary snapped.

There was a rustle of noise behind the door.

“They’re coming,” Cas said flatly having reappeared in the hall with two bloody holes in his shirt. “Next time, knock louder.”

“What the fuck?” Rosalie’s voice sounded as Cas turned and walked away. Dawn looked to find her and Nick stumbling into the hall.

Buffy and Spike were making a beeline to Dawn from their room, which was the farthest away. “What’s happened?” Buffy said sharply.

“Gun!” Dean shouted as he swung open his bedroom door. He was aiming a pistol in nothing but a pair of Batman boxers. Faith was beside him, wearing only his T-shirt and holding a handgun at her hip.

“Uhh…” Sam said slowly, looking to Dawn for help. She could only offer a useless shrug.

The door to Giles’s room opened so hard it smacked into the wall. When the man stomped out—thankfully fully clothed—he bared the look of a man angry at the world. He cast a nasty glare first to Dawn before looking to Sam with utter content. “The angel? You sent the fucking angel?”

“Umm…” Sam said blankly.

“Hellmouth,” Dawn said remembering the bad before she’d denied her surrogate dad his happy ending. “News. Bad. Talk?”

When Mary stepped out into the hall, Faith burst out laughing.

“No way!” Rosalie cried.

“I’m confused,” Buffy said quietly.

Spike chuckled. “Seems Rupert’s been doing more than watchin’.”

“Great,” Mary sighed in disgust. “Can we do this _not_ in the hallway?” She pushed past everyone and started making her way to the meeting room. “And can Dean and Faith please put some pants on?”

_Well,_ Dawn thought, _today was going to be interesting_.


	36. Chapter 36

Bad news regarding the Hellmouth. Buffy wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she felt an actual nostalgia pain for Sunnydale. Well, perhaps not Sunnydale itself, but the way things—even apocalyptic things—had seemed so much easier then.

And then she snorted at herself. Tell seventeen-year-old Buffy that running Angel through with a sword to save the world was easy and seventeen-year-old Buffy would have made you limp.

“Somethin’ funny, pet?” Spike asked, tugging her to his side. They had all convened around the table, but no one yet had taken a seat, even though, judging by Dawn’s face, this was news people would want to be sitting for.

“Just…thinking about home,” Buffy replied, then leaned in to kiss him. “Also food. I woke up earlier than we’d planned and my tummy’s telling me I’ve usually eaten by now.”

“Please don’t,” Dean said, wincing. “My head’s still pounding and watching you go to town on bloody Frosted Flakes might be what tips me over.”

Rosalie, who had grown up around vampires, snorted and shook her head. “God, what a wimp.” She looked to Nick for help, but judging by the look on his face, he sided with Dean on this one.

“Bloody hell, now you’ve done it.” Spike pressed a hand to his belly. “Tummy makin’ with the rumblies. Do we still have Frosted Flakes?”

Dean shook his head. “Seriously, no. Wait until I’m out of the room or I will hurl.”

“Given that we found your mom and Giles with their pants off, I’m just surprised you’ve lasted this long,” Faith said, giving Dean’s hand a condescending pat.

“Fuck. Why’d you have to put that image back in my head?” Dean shuddered and dragged a hand down his face. “Don’t suppose you’d go get me some Tylenol. You know, to make up for the trauma.”

Faith rolled her eyes but made to do just that. “You big baby,” she said, patting his back this time before disappearing to the kitchen.

“Thanks, babe,” he called after her, his mouth curled into a fond little smile.

“Wimp,” Rosalie said again, louder this time, though she and Nick shared a smirk that told Buffy they had noted the same thing she had.

Buffy had managed—mostly—to hold her tongue the night before, and though the temptation was upon her to start making kissy noises, she felt a bit like she’d stumbled across a deer in the wild and any sudden movement would cause it to bolt. Pointing out that Faith or Dean were being downright domestic with each other might make whatever they were doing come to a screeching halt.

“I’m gonna go ahead and get started,” Sam said after clearing his throat.

“Do,” Giles muttered. Buffy didn’t think she’d ever seen him so crabby. “I was having a right nice morning up until ten minutes ago.”

“Dude,” Dean snapped, headache apparently forgotten for the moment, “can you not say that about banging my mom? It’s gross.”

“Thank you, son,” Mary said dryly. “And here I thought you’d prefer Rupert to the alternatives.”

“Are you saying it was him or Ketch?”

“Dude,” Sam chimed in, also looking a bit sick. “Can we not talk about this?”

Buffy snickered, and when the Winchesters threw her identical looks, she brought up her hands. “No,” she said, “it’s cute the way you two are both…super weird about your mom.”

“Well, how would you feel if it was your mom?” Dean fired back.

Giles jerked his head to Buffy, his eyes wide with alarm. _Please no_, that look said. But there was no way she was letting this go.

“Oh, you mean how I would have felt if I learned they’d had sex on a police car—twice, I might add—and that my mother thought he was a stevedore in the sack?”

Mary dissolved into quiet chuckles. Sam and Dean just looked at her.

Then Dean whipped his attention to Giles. “Do you have _zero _self-control, man?”

“Yeah, because that’s a door you want to open,” Mary muttered. Then she met Buffy’s gaze and shrugged. “Your mother was right.”

“Mom!” both Winchesters yelled. Except then Dean winced and pressed his palm to his brow.

Faith reappeared the next moment, bottle of water in one hand and presumably pills in the next. Dean turned to her as though sensing her presence, took what she offered, with a quick, “Thanks,” and downed the lot in a cool seven seconds.

“Giles,” Faith said appraisingly. “You did the nasty with Joyce? How did I not know this?”

“In my defense,” Giles said, “it was the band candy.”

Dean blinked and turned to Buffy. “What candy was so bad that it was banned?”

“Not _banned_, like, restricted. It was candy we sold for—”

“People,” Castiel said in his gruff voice. Buffy had to say, for a guy sporting two gunshot wounds, he looked impressively put together. “We are here to discuss the Hellmouth, not the details of your very complicated personal lives. Sam, Dean, please, the matter at hand.”

At this, Giles looked rather conflicted. He raised his chin and said, “Thank you,” in a small voice. Then added, “Wanker.”

Sam waited a beat, then nodded his agreement. “Right,” he said and cleared his throat. He shot a quick look to Dawn, who offered a smile that looked more like a wince. “So…I was reading this morning, an account from one of the Men of Letters. It doesn’t go into detail as to how the Hellmouth opened but it did…describe how it was closed the last time. A slayer named Cassandra Hart—”

Giles inhaled sharply. “Oh dear.”

“You know the name?” Sam asked.

“Oh yes.” He looked to Nick. “You should as well.”

Nick had paled considerably, his eyes rounding. “Bloody hell…”

Faith leaned forward, glancing between the two former Watchers. “You boys wanna share with the class?”

“Cassandra Hart was a slayer in the late nineteenth century.” Giles paused and threw Spike a glare that reached all the way back to Sunnydale. “Called just after Xin Rong was slaughtered by William the Bloody.”

Buffy swallowed and clamped a hand around Spike’s. “We can do without the color commentary, Giles,” she said, fighting to keep her voice neutral. “Everyone here knows Spike has a history with slayers.”

Spike sucked in his cheeks and aimed a glare at some point on the horizon. This was such a precarious dance with them—one they did their best to avoid altogether. He had changed so much over the years, but there were certain things he only felt for how he saw they affected others. Like now, Buffy understood his response was not out of remorse, but for knowing how it impacted her. How it was shaped to make her doubt or question the decisions she’d made. It hurt him because the reminder hurt her. She was his conduit to human emotion.

Giles had come a long way, too, but his acceptance of Spike was one of those things that wavered depending on the day.

“Yes, well,” Giles continued after a beat, “Cassandra was, by all accounts, a brilliant slayer. So much so she lived much longer than was considered normal.”

This much made Sam snort. “She was eighteen.”

“Yes,” Giles agreed. “That’s what I said.”

Dean looked to Faith, his expression worried.

“And she stopped the Hellmouth from opening…” Buffy made a rolling gesture with her hand. “Come on, Giles. Everyone else isn’t getting any younger.”

But it was Sam who spoke, his gaze on Rosalie. “She jumped into it. Slayer blood closed the Hellmouth. She sacrificed herself to do it.”

The room fell silent.

Buffy released a long breath, rolled her neck from side to side, then looked to Faith. “All right,” she said with level calm. “You wanna flip for it? It’s technically my turn, but if you wanna fight me for it I won’t stop you.”

Faith snickered, crossing her arms.

Spike tightened his hold on Buffy. “Not funny, pet.”

“Yeah, I’m with him on this,” Dean said, glaring at Faith. “Or did I miss something?”

“It can’t be Buffy anyway,” Dawn blurted. Hell, even from across the room, Buffy could hear how hard her heart was pounding. “Buffy’s a vampire. She’s not the Slayer anymore.”

“One of those things you never really stop being, Dawnie,” Buffy replied. “But the demon blood thing might make Hell spit me back out. I’m sure they’re full of it down there.”

“Honestly, sounds about right,” Faith replied, shrugging. “Always is one of us. Well, usually you, B, but then you got your nice little undead escape clause.”

“Hey, I didn’t make you put on that bracelet.”

“Naw, but that’s something you woulda done if you’d been there.” She smirked. “Had that thought, too, while I was waiting to go up. Actually living up to the Slayer name for once.”

“Why aren’t you two more wigged?” Rosalie demanded, her voice shrill. “Because I am over here very, very wigged.”

Buffy shook her head. “Rosie, sweetie, I was sixteen the first time I was told I was going to die. Kind of part of the Slayer package. Violent life, violent premature death in the service of world saveage.”

“If you’re lucky like me and B, though, you get cosmic redos,” Faith added.

“Technically, the first time I died, Xander brought me back with CPR.”

“I was brought back by the good folks at Sacred Heart.” Faith turned back to Rosalie. “No worries, kiddo. You got two slayers right here who have exceeded their expiration dates by a lot. You can catch the next one, all right?”

“What the _fuck_?” Dean snapped, glaring at Faith as though she’d insulted him. “So that’s it? You and Buffy are just gonna duke it out to see who gets to live?”

“It _has _to be Faith,” Dawn said. “Buffy can’t—”

“We don’t know that,” Buffy said.

“Yes, we bloody well do,” Spike snarled. “Told you that you had a death wish once, but I thought you were past the point of wantin’ to cash it in.”

“If it’s me or the world—”

“You go down and I go down with you, love. That’s how this works with you and me.”

Buffy’s heart twisted. She knew he’d say that, knew he felt that way, but dammit, she couldn’t stomach the idea of Spike sacrificing himself just _because_. True, they had no idea how death would impact them with the claim—it could be that he’d have no choice—but if he did, he had to keep living. He just had to.

“No,” she said hoarsely. “Spike—”

“Not up for bloody debate, Slayer. Just the way things are.”

“This is stupid,” Dean barked. “The Hellmouth ain’t even open. And it won’t open while we’re here, so why the hell does it matter how it closed the last time?” He whirled on Sam, glaring at his brother as though this was his fault. “This is what you needed to tell us? How about how to _open _the fucking thing? Figure out what the last goddamn ingredient is so we can stop Lucifer before he comes to collect.”

Faith seized Dean by the upper arm. “Hey, lady on the verge, wanna dial it back a notch or twelve? This is the kind of shit we’ll need to know if things go south.”

“So you’re just planning on needing to Evel Knievel yourself to death again, is that it?” he yelled at her. “What woulda happened yesterday if I hadn’t called Cas to heal up your broken ass then? The kid goes? You’re telling me I did all that just so you could die when it was more fucking convenient?”

“Hey!” she snapped, shoving him back. “No one fucking asked you to save my ass.”

“Well, next time I won’t bother!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” Dean roared, then stormed off in the direction of his room without another word.

Faith stared at the place where he’d disappeared for a long beat, her eyes shining and her chest heaving. She looked either ready to punch a hole through the wall or commit murder, and considering the fact that she’d done both, the odds were pretty even.

“He…has a temper,” Mary said diplomatically. “He’ll be better after he cools off.”

Faith snorted and shook her head, bringing up her hands. “Tell someone who cares, Mom.” She turned and pinned Sam with a look. “What your dumbass brother said aside, I’d really rather not toss my ass into Hell, so can we please find a fucking way to stop it from opening?”

“We never said we’re not looking anymore,” Dawn said, crossing her arms. “Apologies for ruining everyone’s morning by sharing what we felt was vital information.”

“Just how the fuck did you think this was gonna go?” Faith shot back. “You know B has a martyr complex—”

“Okay, wow, underserved,” Buffy said, her eyes narrowing. “And a little hypocritical, considering you literally died for someone else just two months ago.”

“Yeah, well, that’d be the part of you that’s rubbed off on me.” Faith glanced to Rosalie. “And it ain’t ever gonna be you, kid.”

“It doesn’t have to be _anyone_,” Sam said. “You’re right. Dean’s right. We can find a way to keep the Hellmouth closed. But Dawn’s right too—we needed to know this. Just so…everyone’s prepared.”

“No,” Rosalie drawled slowly, “we needed to know this so we could start picking the short straws. Faith’s right. _Buffy’s _right. If something goes wrong—if Lucifer gets everything he needs, we need a way to stop the _apocalypse_.”

Faith glared at the girl. “And you’re not it, so sit back down and let the grownups talk.”

“I am the Slayer!”

“Yeah, and I will call your fucking father faster than you can wet Nick’s whistle if you don’t stop that kinda talk.”

Rosalie’s mouth fell open. She looked to Nick for support, but found none. He was paler than usual, his expression stricken. “Sorry, love, I’m with her on this.”

Rosalie scoffed and threw her hands in the air. “So you’re just going to die for me. Again. Take the choice away from me. _Again_.”

“Not planning on it, Ro, but if it goes down like that, then you bet your ass.”

“My ass is still in this game,” Buffy interjected. “This isn’t all on Faith.”

“Slayer, I will tie you up in ways I bloody well promise you will not enjoy,” Spike snarled. “Dru once left me naked and hog-tied up in a cave. Took me three weeks to undo the bloody binding and another five to get home. Know where that cave is, though, and I won’t sodding hesitate to drag your lickable ass there and do the same thing.”

There was a pause. Dawn turned to Sam. “You gotta admire the way he can be totally gross and still super sweet at the same time.”

Sam blinked and looked at her. “Do you, though?”

“Had you…done something to piss her off or was this her way of rewarding you for good behavior?” Buffy asked. Spike had told her a handful of Crazy Dru stories over the years and it could honestly go either way.

“Neither,” Spike replied with a snort. “It was our anniversary.”

“Have I mentioned how severely up you traded?”

Spike pulled her tighter against him, trembling. “What I mean, Slayer. You’re not going anywhere I can’t follow.”

“And,” Faith added, “as Dawn pointed out, you’re probably out of the running anyway. And there’s no use you dying just to find out that vamp blood ain’t gonna do shit. I’m a sure thing. And I swear to god, if you make a joke out of that, Dawn Summers, I will fucking flatten you.”

“Hey!” Sam snapped. “Lay off—”

“Oh, fuck you, you big Boy Scout.”

“Children!” Giles barked. “That is quite enough. I know tempers are running high, but turning on each other will do nothing to solve the matter at hand. Should the Hellmouth open… Buffy and I have been here before. There must be another way, which _I _will research. In the meantime…” He turned to Castiel, flinched at the sight of him, but soldiered on, “I need you to go to Los Angeles and collect Xander Harris and Anya Jenkins. The Hellmouth is here, which means if Willow intends to open it, she will be here as well. Xander will do us little good waiting at the Hyperion.”

“Who’s Xander?” Sam asked, his attention split between playing the doting boyfriend to a fuming Dawn and glaring daggers at Faith.

“OG member of the Scooby Gang,” Dawn answered, also glaring at Faith.

“The what gang?”

“He helped save the world the last time Willow became the Big Bad,” Buffy said, exhausted, which was no small feat for a vampire, let alone a vampire who was once a slayer. “Appealed to her humanity. But Giles, I’m not sure how well that’ll work out this time. From everything we’ve learned, she’s not…out of her head with grief or rage. She’s just…working with the devil.”

Giles nodded, looking, at once, older than Buffy had ever seen him. “I know,” he said. “But having Xander here certainly couldn’t hurt.” He paused, glanced at Sam, then Mary. “I rather hope not, at least.”

“Why’d you look at me with that?” Sam asked.

“Because Xander… Ahh, he’s…”

“An overgrown manchild?” Faith volunteered.

“And another guy you doinked,” Dawn said with a smirk. “Got a nice collection going under one roof.”

And that seemed to be it for Faith. She glared at Dawn for a second, then turned and walked down the hall without another word.

“Honestly,” Rosalie snapped after she was gone, “can you chill?”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Dawn replied primly.

“No, I know her _better _than you do. So does Nick.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who was all pissy because she was back from the dead _because _of how well your boyfriend knows her?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand down Dawn’s arm. “Dawnie—”

“Yeah. I was dumb. And unlike you, I got over it. Everyone has gotten over it. Even your sister”—Rosalie waved at Buffy—“seems to be all kinds of over whatever shit happened in the past. And since it happened _to her_, maybe a little less with the catty megabitch?”

“Rosalie!” Sam snapped. “Go get your gear. We’re going jogging.”

Rosalie shook her head, flipped off her Watcher in true slayer fashion, dragging her bemused boyfriend along behind her.

There was nothing for a moment. Buffy and Spike exchanged glances with Giles and Mary. No one seemed to know what to do.

“Dawn,” Buffy said at last in her best big-sister voice, “this thing with Faith… You really—”

“Don’t,” Dawn said shortly. “Don’t tell me to get over it again. Everyone seems to have gotten amnesia where she’s concerned. But when a psycho holds a knife to your throat and threatens to kill you and your mom, that’s something you don’t really ever get over.” She shook her head, gave Sam a last look, then said, “I’m going back to bed,” before turning to presumably do just that.

Buffy sighed, which turned into a whimper when Spike ran a hand down her back. “Can we just go back to yesterday before we found the Hellmouth? Please?”

“There is that shining light among everything,” Giles said. “Knowing where it is gives us an advantage. There are ways to keep Lucifer out of the bunker, I presume.”

Sam swallowed. “Nothing that’s ever worked permanently, but we can buy time.”

“I can do my best to reinforce our wards,” Castiel agreed. “But Lucifer is unlike other angels. And Willow will undoubtedly be prepared to undo whatever we put up.”

“Hey, stop being so optimistic, Cas,” Mary chided. “You’re freaking me out.”

“And in the meantime,” Giles continued, turning back to Buffy. “We will look for alternatives. You and I have the added benefit of experience where Hellmouths are concerned.”

Buffy waved an imaginary pom-pom. “Yay experience.” She eyed Spike. “You’re helping.”

“Slayer, if any part of you is thinkin’ about jumping into the bleeding underworld, you bet your lickable arse I’m helping.” He kissed her temple. “Blood first though, yeah?”

She smiled, a calm that only he could provide washing over her. “Major with the yeah.”

“Good then,” Sam said, and cleared his throat as he looked at the mostly empty room. “Meeting adjourned.”

*~*~*

This was ridiculous.

Seriously, seriously ridiculous.

Sabrina had been around Polyjuice Potion for years. It had been part of her training to join the MACUSA ranks—not only using it, but identifying when others were using it. Memorizing speech patterns and body language and other things that couldn’t be faked as easily as a face and a voice. Hell, she’d used the stuff just a few days earlier to impersonate Donna Moss. She knew that the man currently striding down the hall beside her was not, in fact, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, but a very happily married Harry Potter, who didn’t care for her all that much.

Yet he wore Wesley’s face—a face she liked very much. And he’d borrowed Wesley’s body—a body she knew intimately. And when he looked at her, it was with Wesley’s eyes. She loved those eyes.

_Good god, you are not a hormonal teenager_.

“I’d really, really appreciate it if you’d stop that,” Harry said in Wesley’s voice. They’d gotten through the hard part—interacting with others. Since no one here knew Wesley, there was no way or reason for them to question Harry’s identity. He’d chosen the name James Black as his cover, an archivist from the Ministry of Magic who needed to cross-reference old files on the International Treaty of Magical Cooperation. The Ministry, according to James Black, had misplaced their old files by storing them with a load of confiscated invisibility cloaks, and, well, the inevitable had happened. Since stories regarding the Ministry of Magic’s inadequacies were as popular here as jokes about the Potter series, no one had bothered to double-check Harry’s forged “official” documents from Kingsley Shacklebolt. Not that they would have gotten anywhere with them—Sabrina had to admit that Hermione Granger-Weasley was one witch the whole of the magical community would be better off never crossing.

“Stop what?” she asked as they turned a corner through the maze-like archival files. Thankfully, the room was empty—though MACUSA officials loved to hate him, there was something about Harry Potter that drew them all like a moth to the flame. Everyone was taking a long lunch.

“Stop looking at me like you’d like to shag me into the ground.”

Oh god. He’d seen that? Sabrina felt her cheeks go hot and she forced herself to focus. “I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her gaze steadfastly straight ahead. They had passed the treaty files more than three minutes earlier, and the farther they walked, the more self-conscious she became. Most likely no one would stumble upon them here—the archival room was hardly the most exciting place. Nothing like the Department of Mysteries or the Hall of Prophecy.

There was a kiosk desk at the center with the various categories listed and expedited, magical means of finding the correct files, but that also left a magical imprint that could be reviewed at any time, which they wanted to avoid. Still, it would almost be as bad to be caught searching like NoMajes when they could have bypassed the manual labor.

Sabrina was becoming more and more convinced that the NoMaj concept of Murphy’s Law was more prophecy than anecdotal warning.

“Here,” Harry said, picking up the pace and drawing out his wand. Sabrina allowed herself a moment to appreciate the unreality of what she was seeing—Wesley brandishing a wand and looking very much like he knew how to use it.

“What do you see?” Sabrina asked.

“There.” He pointed to a silver credenza at the end of a long row of files. It had no markings aside from the images of a wolf, a ram, and a deer emblazoned on the side.

_Wolf. Ram. Hart._

Sabrina’s heart began pounding harder. “I rather doubt _Alohomora _will open it up for us. Did you three ever come up with—”

“I have an idea, but I haven’t done it in twenty years or so.”

Well, that didn’t sound promising. “Which is…?”

Harry gave her a rather sheepish look which, on Wesley’s face, just reigniting her desire to kiss him. “Parseltongue.”

“Parseltongue? I thought you couldn’t speak that anymore. Ever since…”

_Ever since Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on you for the second time. _Sabrina nearly tripped over herself, hit suddenly by the realization that she actually was with Harry Potter, the man who had stopped the darkest wizard to walk the land when he’d been but a boy. It was one thing to read but another to experience. For some reason, this much had never occurred to her before.

“I can’t,” Harry acknowledged gruffly. “But Ron was able to get into the Chamber of Secrets by just hissing at the bloody faucet, so it might work here.”

“But there isn’t a serpent on that thing. And, believe it or not, we’re not as anti-snake over here are you are over there.”

“Parseltongue is a mark of a dark wizard,” Harry said. “Has nothing to do with Slytherin. Yes, there are Parselmouths who were not dark, but if the senior partners at Wolfram and Hart are involved with the magical world, and we know they are, it makes sense that Parseltongue might be among the languages they adhere to.” He paused. “At any rate, I’m not sure it’ll work. It’s all I have at the moment.”

“And if it fails?”

“I’ll come up with something that won’t.”

The utter confidence with which he spoke unnerved her, but was oddly comforting at the same time.

Harry stepped forward and knelt beside the credenza. He favored Sabrina with another sheepish Wesley look, and she had to bite her lip to keep from doing something really stupid, then again to keep from laughing when he started hissing and spitting nonsense at the thing.

“Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know that I’m saying anything at all,” Harry muttered, wiping his mouth. “Feel free to try and open it yourself.”

“You did try the handle, I suppose?”

Harry glared at her before tugging on the thing in demonstration. She was pretty sure he hadn’t done that before he’d started speaking snake, but decided not to rub it in. Then he was hissing and spitting some more, and it was all she could do to keep from cracking up.

Then the credenza slid open and she stopped finding anything funny.

Harry rose to his feet with an I-told-you-so grin, which was somewhat diminished by the bit of saliva clinging to his face. He wiped his chin and slid the thing open all the way.

There was a mountain of work inside. Some old-school parchment, some thick tomes of books, some modern files. Sabrina released a small whimper. There was no way they were getting through all of this.

But Harry only looked delighted. He reached into his suit pocket and produced a small beaded handbag that looked entirely out of place for either him or Wesley, as well as his wand.

“Here,” he said, pushing the handbag into Sabrina’s hands. “Hold that open.”

“What?”

He pointed his wand at one of the books in the credenza. “_Gemino.”_

Sabrina held her breath as a perfect copy of the book popped into existence. Harry pointed his wand at the original. “_Accio_,” he said, and directed it toward the bag. The bag was much too small to accommodate anything so large, and Sabrina was about to ask just how in the hell he knew that was the correct book when it slipped right in.

“How—”

“Hermione’s bloody brilliant, that’s how.”

Sabrina gaped at the beaded handbag. “Is this what she used when you—”

“Yes.”

“I thought that was a Rowling invention.” As far as Sabrina and all of MACUSA was concerned, there were no such things as undetectable extendable charms to the degree Rowling had described. Lesser wizards had attempted to create them without success. Sure, trunks, tents, cars, and other objects could be bewitched to hold extra space, but not indefinitely. Not a bag that could hold everything, like she was Mary Poppins.

Harry shrugged. “And that’s the way the Ministry prefers it. Now hold that open. I have a lot to copy.”

It likely didn’t last as long as it seemed it did. Harry diligently copied everything within the credenza and sent the originals into Hermione’s bag. The originals he wanted because copies could be revealed as forgeries if given proper scrutiny, and if they were to expose anything damaging from Wolfram and Hart, their case against them could hinge upon document authentication.

After he was finished, he pressed the credenza closed. Sabrina was prepared for more of that funny hissing, but it locked itself just fine.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. It felt like they’d been down here for hours.

“One more thing.” Harry extended his wand. _“Accio _Sabrina Deanne file.”

“What the hell—”

From somewhere across the archive, a cabinet flew open. And before she knew what was happening, Harry had caught thick leather parcel bearing her name and shoved it into the beaded bag.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sabrina snapped, forgetting for a second to be quiet.

“_Muffliato_!” Harry said, waving his wand again. “We need to know what your government has on _you_ in case something happens. If you have to go into hiding—”

“I don’t plan on it!”

“Right, and I planned on camping my way across Europe when I was seventeen bloody years old. You’re risking your freedom at best and your life at worst—Hermione wanted to make sure we had ways to help in case you needed it, but in order to help, we need to know what _they _know. Now shove off and let’s get out of here.”

Later, Sabrina suspected she’d find time to be touched that anyone, much less the Golden Trio, gave a fuck what happened to her after this. But for the moment, she pushed that to the back of her head and focused on following the man who, at the present, looked like the man she thought about at night. Through the aisles of files, past the door, and into the still-empty hallway.

“How do you suppose Harry Potter’s talk is going?” Sabrina asked, feeling exhilarated in ways she never had before.

Harry ran a hand through Wesley’s hair, making it more unkempt than usual, then reached into his pocket for another swig of Polyjuice.

“Not sure. Don’t much care for the git, myself,” he replied, then grinned. “Fancy we go see what the Boy Who Lived is all about?”

“I’d be delighted,” Sabrina said, and took his arm so they could walk, dignified, to the atrium.

*~*~*

Though Faith had a pretty damn good idea who was in the other room, she still wrapped her towel around herself anyway because, knowing her luck, it’d be Sam and it’d get to Dawn that she’d strutted out of the shower bare-ass naked. Never mind that she was in her own room—the one she had yet to actually sleep in—and hadn’t invited anyone in.

But the person waiting for her on the bed wasn’t Sam, of course. Or Giles or Nick or B.

Dean sat with his legs splayed, his hands clasped between them and his gaze on the floor. She stared at him for a full second, then sighed and made her way to Dollar General bag she’d left here days ago. Somehow, all of her things had again landed in Dean’s room—mostly because she hadn’t packed too much before she’d left and they’d bought new stuff on the road. Not too much stuff, but enough that what she had left in this room wasn’t exactly the pick of the litter.

“Guess it’s your place,” she said as she plucked a pair of shorts and a tank top from the bag. “Let yourself right on in.”

“You stayin’ in here now?”

“That was the plan.” Back before she’d left. Before they’d made their arrangement. She didn’t know what the plan was anymore. Knocking boots didn’t necessarily mean cuddling, though Dean had definitely proved to be a fan of snuggle-time.

Hell, she was too. She just didn’t want to admit it.

“So we done?”

Faith turned to look at him, finding his eyes were on her now. “Done…?”

“You and me?”

She just stared at him for a moment before snorting and shaking her head. “Ducky, pretty sure me being pissed at you is how we end up _in _bed, not out of it. Unless you’re here to tell me we’re done, it’s all good on my end.”

“Hey, you piss me off too.”

“I know. And we fuck out our differences. Everybody wins.”

“Not sure if that’s what I’d call it, but…” He rose to his feet. “Well, maybe that is what I’d call it.”

Good. Because calling it something else acknowledged it _was _something else. The funny place she’d reached yesterday after they’d fucked in the shower, after she’d told him she liked him, had yet to consume her again in its entirety and she wasn’t ready for it.

“Not sure how to fuck this one out, though,” Dean continued in a low gravelly voice that made her very aware she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but a towel. “’Cause, baby, what the fuck was I doin’ yesterday if you’re planning on just getting yourself killed?”

Faith crossed her arms, and the towel rode down a bit. “I’m not _planning _anything.”

“Sure sounded like you were out there. We already know Lucifer knows about you—you said the other night that he had a _thing_ for you. So I’m sorry if diving into his home sounds to me like giving him _exactly _what he wants.”

“Except he told Willow to kill me yesterday, so—”

Dean shook his head, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t buy that. Not for a second. Didn’t tell you this, but Willow showed up at the motel after you… Well, after.”

“She did?”

“Yeah.”

“And…” She ran her gaze down his body, though that was stupid. She’d seen him naked several times since she’d awakened from her near-death experience, and he’d looked whole and well each time. Better, even, thanks to the work Cas had done on his arm.

“She didn’t hurt me,” Dean said. “She could’ve…still don’t know why she didn’t. But she was there for you. She wanted to take you with her. To Lucifer.”

This was all information it would have been handy to have had an hour ago. Faith shuddered. “Fuck, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Because I didn’t wanna freak you out.”

“Well, nice job, Ducky.”

“Hey.” Dean closed the space between them, seizing her by the upper arms. “You had just been through some shit I happen to know ain’t easy to walk off, I don’t care how super strong you are. Dyin’ takes it out of you and you’ve been going full-speed since Chuck tossed you back. I have no clue why that redheaded bitch didn’t kill me—told her to if she meant to take you with her. So don’t tell me that was for nothin’, Faith. Don’t tell me I kept you alive just to fail now, okay?”

The desperation in his voice made something in her chest crack. “Dean…you haven’t failed at all. Whatever happens with this…it ain’t on you.”

He barked a hard laugh. “Sure. Right. Well, it definitely ain’t on you.”

“One of us has a sacred calling here.”

“You gonna rub that in my face forever?”

“No, shithead. I mean the PTB or Chuck or whatever the fuck you wanna call it specifically tagged me in and said the world’s mine to save or screw over. At some point, you and your brother, and Wright and Giles and Nick—you all had a choice whether you lived this life. B, Ro, and me? We never got that choice. We were _Chosen_. And when you’re Chosen, you’re kinda fucked.” She glanced down, unable to take the look in his eyes. “I know enough about hunters to know they think the life picked them most of the time, but Ducky, there’s a big fuckin’ difference between growin’ up in it and bein’ thrown into it with no way out. Ro told me last night that Sam tried to get out of the life, go to college, be Joe Normal. That right?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah. Didn’t take. Tried it once myself. Also didn’t take. Calls you back. You can’t… It’s not like you can just stop knowing things. And if you know how to kill them—”

“This isn’t a pissing contest. I’m just sayin’ that as the Slayer, I have this responsibility whether I want it or not. There is no _trying _to be normal or walkin’ away. You heard B out there—prophesied to die when she was sixteen. You heard Giles say the Slayer that died the first time this sucker opened was older than most at eighteen. Ro’s eighteen. She live a good long life?” She shook her head. “Fuck, when I was Called, I thought it was time to party. Hot super-powered chick? Fuckin’ A.”

“Someone has a healthy ego.”

Faith looked up at him, smirking now. “I’m a hot piece of ass and you know it.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth twitched but his eyes remained serious.

“Didn’t get it until well after I met B—what it means to be the Slayer. She kept goin’ around like the weight of the fucking world was on her shoulders and all I saw was what we could do. I didn’t take it seriously and because of that, I got people killed. _I _killed people.” She pressed her lips together. “Stuck up bitch had it right all along. And hey, I ain’t looking to play hero. Dying fucking sucks. All about keepin’ the damn Hellmouth from opening or hoping Giles can do his Giles thing and come up with an another way to close it back up again that doesn’t involve takin’ a dive.” Faith released a long breath and edged a step closer so they were breathing the same air, and was relieved when he didn’t push her back again. “But B and me? We can’t _not _think about what happens if shit doesn’t go our way. Ro’s not there yet and I fucking hope she won’t be for a long time. Would be just fine with her letting me and B take it on. But if it’s Hell on earth or my life? What kind of shit person would I be if I chose me over _everyone_? If I let an eighteen year-old kid die? Would you let Sammy die in your place?”

Dean inhaled sharply. “No,” he said, his voice thick. “And I’ve made that call before.”

“Yeah. I figured. So I _have _to think about shit like that. I have to be ready. Buffy’s out on account of demon blood and Ro’s out on account that I won’t fucking let her. But I like I said, I kinda like living and I’d love to go a year without kickin’ it, so let’s just…find a different way.” A pause. “We look for another way, find another way, but have this ready in case things go sideways.”

There was nothing for a moment. He studied her, then tried for a grin—it was the saddest fucking thing she’d ever seen, the way he looked at her. There were tears in his eyes. “Can I just state for the record that this saving the world shit fucking sucks?”

“Definitely sucks.” She hesitated, then pressed her lips to his. It was meant to be a brief kiss, soft and reassuring, but he grabbed her and began tearing at her mouth like he was mad at it. It was all teeth and tongue and saying things without words, and tempting as it would’ve been to toss him back on his ass and ride him hard until they forgot everything they’d learned since they’d woken up, the part of her that very much wanted to live—the part of her that had grown up—managed to steal enough real estate in her mind to push back.

“Ducky,” she said, “we got an ingredient to find.”

“You’re wearing nothing but a towel. Come on.”

“We get this dumbass world saved and I’ll wear nothin’ but a towel for a week.”

“Holding you to that, Miss Kitty.” He kissed her again, then stepped back and looked around. “So, you just have the two bags?”

Faith glanced down. She hadn’t made much headway in getting dressed beyond taking out the shorts and tank top. “Uhh, yeah, and the shit I left in your room.”

“’Kay.” He nodded at her clothes. “Better get dressed. Don’t wanna know what might come out of Dawn’s mouth if she saw you in nothin’.” He picked up the bags and headed for the door.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Takin’ this shit back for now. Trust me…” Dean nodded at the bed. “You ain’t gonna get a good night’s sleep on that thing.”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “And I will in your room?”

“You sayin’ you don’t? First of all, I put you in a sex coma. And second of all, memory foam, baby. Relatively new, too. Spike and Buffy got my old one all gross with their vamp sex.” He wrinkled his nose. “Come on. If you’re gonna save the world, you need to be well-rested. Hunter 101 shit.”

“Shit. Also that thing you’re full of.”

“Just get dressed, woman.”

Faith smirked and dropped her towel. “Okay.”

Dean’s gaze zeroed in on her breasts. “Just had to do that, didn’t you?”

“Hey, you told me to get dressed.” She pulled on the shorts without bothering with panties, then slipped the tank on over it, sans bra.

“Okay, babe, you gotta do something about those things.” Dean waved at her tits. “That’s all kinds of distractin’.”

“I ain’t wearin’ a bra to research. Exercise some self-control.”

“Yeah, I have none of that.”

Faith strolled to the door, paused to give him a kiss, then headed out. “It’s a hard knock life for Ducky,” she called over her shoulder, and grinned when she heard him swear loudly and clamor after her.


	37. Chapter 37

At least the bunker had quieted down since he and Rosalie returned from their run. The youngest Slayer was still a little pissy, but that could be any day that ended in ‘y’ when it came to that girl.

Speaking of kinda pissy girls, he was pleasantly surprised to find Dawn sitting cross-legged on his bed when he entered his room after a shower. “Hey,” he said as suavely as a guy in flannel boxer briefs with dripping wet hair could muster.

She eyed his bare chest in a way that made his ego jump to Dean levels. “Hiya, hot stuff.”

He gave a little chuckle. “Gotta admit, really liking this whole open crush thing now.”

Her gaze travelled up to his eyes. “Me too.” The fire in her stare dimmed. “So, I guess we should talk a little about my megabitchiness back there.”

He shook his head. “I get it. I really do.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically. “Because sometimes I’m doubting myself. Everyone keeps harping on about how Faith’s _changed_ and we need to forgive and _forget_ all that shit she did back then.” Dawn sighed. “And I hear it, but then I remember _what_ she did. And I just…I can’t.”

Sam walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I really do understand, Dawnie. And to be honest, it was the main reason I was afraid to approach you. I’ve…done things.” He looked down to the floor. “Not saying what Faith did wasn’t bad. Not saying it wasn’t wrong and fucked up and possibly unforgivable.” He paused. “But I’ve…I’ve done unforgivable things.”

“I know.” He couldn’t help but look up at her simple response. There was a softness in her eyes he definitely didn’t deserve. “There’s been a lot of late night talks around here about the Winchester boys and your many, _many_ poor life choices.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out more a pitiful groan. “Nice.”

She reached over and touched his arm. “I asked Castiel about you.” She flashed a guilty smile. “I’d tried for weeks to get your nut to crack. To get you to open up and talk. He told me…he told me everything.” She sighed. “Well, I _think_ everything.”

He was at a loss for words. If she was sitting here in his room, Cas must’ve left out the gory details.

Dawn squeezed his arm. “It started when your mom made a deal with a demon to save your dad. There was the whole mess with the demon blood and getting tricked by some Ruby to opening up the prison where Lucifer was held. You were even possessed by him for a while before you sacrificed yourself to lock him back up.”

“It wasn’t really a sacrifice when you were the one who let him out to start.”

“Yes, it was,” she countered. “And I know about your soul, Sam.” His breath hitched at the mention of the word. “I know how you were soulless when Cas brought you back. I know you did things you really wish I didn’t.”

Fuck, he felt his eyes begin to water. He really didn’t want her to know. “Dawnie, I—“

“Shhh,” she interjected. “I know about the torture you went through. How you almost died from the damage. Gadreel. All of that.”

“Then why—“ His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Why would you…why would you want me?”

“Because you’re a good man, Sam Winchester. You’re good and smart as hell and sexy as fuck and funny and sweet and a million other things.”

“But I’m also bad. And dumb. And dark. I’m a murderer. With my own hands and by the choices I’ve made. I’m…” he looked down at his hands. “You’re filled with this light…this Key energy. I’m filled with…I still have demon blood in me, Dawnie. Even now, I still crave it. Like an addict, I can function without it, but I still sometimes dream about how good it was. How much I liked it.”

“And I’m sorry. I really am. Because I don’t know how it feels to live with that struggle everyday. But I do know that it was _never_ your fault. All of it? You realize you never _chose _to be bad. Even your mistakes were well-intentioned.”

Embarrassed, he wiped the tear from cheek. “I’ve never…I never really saw it like that. Not fully at least. Thank you.”

Uncrossing her legs, she scooted her body next to his. “Maybe if I’d known you then I’d see it different. We’ll never know. But as far as you and me, I don’t see you as anything more than another victim of Karma’s bitchiness. My problem is Faith didn’t have some demon poisoning her as a baby. Her evil was all on her. And I just can’t let that go.”

Gently Sam reached over and grasped her knee. “And I won’t tell you should. I can’t judge you because I’m the last guy who can judge.”

“I know we have much bigger shit to to focus on. We all want to stop this Hellmouth before it opens. And I’ll…_try_ to dampen my inner megabitch.” She smiled at that. “But I’ve never exactly been good at controlling my internal monologue from popping out.”

He laughed. “Yeah. That’s the nice way of wording it.”

“Shut up,” she teased. “You have nice hair, too.”

He snickered. “I haven’t even styled it, yet.”

“I know. I think it’s cute how you have more products than I do.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Just don’t be too upset with me if I lose my cool and make with the verbal bitch-slapping. Because I don’t like Faith and I never will. She’s evil and mean and manipulative. Buffy’s nicer than I’ll ever be. And Dean? I know he’s just blinded by the sex or whatever it is guys seem to like about her.” She shook her head. “I like your brother a lot. He’s a good guy. Kinda irks me that she’s probably just gonna love him and leave him like she does with everyone in her life.”

God, she was—to borrow Dean’s lingo—awesome. The way she sat here and accepted him completely as he was—flawed and broken—and the way she even cared about his brother and any potential heartache was really moving. He didn’t know quite how to express himself in words.

“So, now that I’ve officially ran out of verbal diarrhea for the moment, I guess we better hit the books.”

Leaning over, he gave her a long, passionate kiss. He tried to use his lips and tongue to say everything he couldn’t verbalize. Slowly, he pulled back to give her a warm smile. “I guess I should put on pants.”

“Yeah,” she agreed as she waggled her brows. “Don’t need to be distracting the ladies with my man candy.”

“Man candy?” He barked a laugh. “I like it.”

She gave him a quick smack on the lips before standing up. “Good. So now let’s go save the world.”

*~*~*

“You’re fucking shitting me.” Zack could hear his brother, but the sight of him was obstructed by the ginormous pile of files and books that had spilled from Hermione’s bag on command. Sam’s office was so crammed with pages of information that everyone was essentially stuck where they had been standing.

“I’m a speed reader,” Josh called out. “But this is fucking excessive. And I’ve drafted budget appropriations for the federal government.”

Cordy somehow had landed on Zack’s side of Book Mountain. She gave her brother-in-law a sideways glance before speaking up. “And this is all Wolfram and Hart? You didn’t accidentally duplicate the history of wolves and hearts maybe? Because this much shared DNA has to be bad.”

“Guys?” Sam called out. “I can’t move. Believe it or not I have a state to run. And a son that I’d like to eventually see again.”

As quickly as everything had appeared, it was more impressive to watch as all the papers began flying back into the little handbag thing in the witch’s hand. Once all the MACUSA intel was contained, Hermione snapped the clasp closed with a tiny click. “I’ve never been more jealous of a purse in my life,” Kelly muttered in astonishment. Zack noted bemused that Cordy, Donna and Sabrina also looked pretty green with envy.

“So what now?” Wright asked. “I just got off the phone with Rosie and Hunter. There’s already a research party going down in Kansas. Giles and the angel are staying there, no fucking question.”

“Really?” Zack asked. “Because I’m pretty sure Giles would get a hard-on looking at a stack like that. And that Cas could probably—“

“No,” Wright growled. “They’re staying in Kansas. Truth is, I may catch a flight to Wichita or something and head that way myself.”

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It might be helpful if the bloke who knows the most about Wolfram and Hart actually helps study the bloody material.”

Fuck. That dark and dangerous shadow crossed his brother’s eyes and he knew at once that shit was hitting the fan. “Oh, fuck me sideways,” Cordelia spoke first. “What is it?”

While there was much less murderous desire in his expression when Wright looked to his wife, Zack still saw enough wild instability to sound his inner alarm bell. “Nick told me what our daughter wouldn’t. Seems that the last time this particular Hellmouth opened, it only closed after this kid named Cassandra Hart pulled a Jesus and sacrificed herself to save the world.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Of course. So now everyone there’s drawing straws hoping to be the next Apocalypse Idol.”

“It’s down to the top three,” Wright snarled back. “Cassandra was a Slayer.”

“Oh my God,” Kelly said expressing the sentiment of the room at large.

“No, no, no, no.” Cordy grew more hysterical with every utterance of the word. “_No_! I don’t care if she is the _active_ Slayer, she does _not_ have permission to do that!”

Wright sighed. “Luckily that’s the majority opinion. Nick said he was willing to kamikaze himself to hold her back. Buffy and Faith pretty much told her to shove it up her ass and he’s betting Faith will knock her out again if it opens.”

“Okay,” Josh said. “So while it’s bad, it sounds like they got it covered.”

Damn. Zack had kinda liked the guy, but he’d officially just signed his execution warrant. “Covered?” Venom was dripping from Wright’s low voice as he slowly turned his death stare to the curly haired man. “Your woman is about to pop your baby and you still don’t get it? Nobody fucking _covers _your kid. Nobody—not your best friend, not even the love of their fucking life—protects your child like their parents.” He swept his eyes about the room to all the moms and dads who were present. “We’d fucking murder the Pope with a toothbrush if it meant keeping them safe.”

The room was quiet for several seconds. “He’s right,” Harry said at last, giving Ginny a long look. “I vowed never to use it, but if it meant saving James, Albus or Lily…” He shook his head. “I’d do it. I really would.”

“I don’t know if I’d flinch,” Ron admitted.

“I’d beat you to it,” Hermione remarked, a tiny hint of a smile as she looked to her husband.

“I wouldn’t need a wand or a spell,” Kelly replied. “I’d rip their fucking throats out with my teeth. And I definitely wouldn’t flinch.”

“They’re right,” Sam said softly, looking at his best friend. “I’ve barely been a dad a minute, but I can tell you that the first time you look at them and realize they could grow up to be a serial killer and you wouldn’t love them any less…” He looked over to Wright. “You do what you need to do. I know a private charter than can get you as close as the nearest runway.”

Wright gave a solemn nod. “Thanks. I’m gonna talk to my wife this time.” He gave Cordy a sheepish glance. “I got another baby back in Los Angeles that I’m really not feeling too good about. If Wolfram and Hart finds out what we’ve done…” He shook his head and looked over to his brother. “One of us needs to go back home. Gunn and Lisa can only do so much.”

“Yeah,” Zack agreed. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night wondering what they’d do if word got out about the empty nest.”

“Truthfully I think most all of us should relocate back at the Hyperion,” Hermione said. “This location is connected to the Floo Network and therefore vulnerable to MACUSA or worse.”

“We don’t know yet,” Ginny said. “MACUSA could be just as bad as this Wolfram and Hart. We haven’t read the files yet.”

“Yes,” Harry acknowledged. “But until proven otherwise, we have to assume MACUSA still believes Sam’s mind has been altered and nobody attached to the governor poses a threat. That would would allow the residents of Sacramento to proceed their lives as normal.”

“Normal?” Toby was sober today. Sober and very hungover. “Where the fuck is normal because it hasn’t been here in years.”

“Relative of course,” Sabrina spoke up. “But Harry’s right. As far as MACUSA is concerned, Hermione established that Floo Network connection to keep tabs on Willow’s offspring to ensure it shows no signs of magical ability.”

Sam gave a horrified look to first the witch talking and then the one mentioned. “Oz is literally a little bomb of magical ability. He casts little spells every morning when he wakes up.”

“And occasionally throughout the day when he gets cranky,” Donna added. “Last week he started zipping around the nursery like a rocket because he got gassy.”

Ron was the first one to laugh. “God, I miss babies.” He looked at his wife. “Remember when Hugo caught those chicken pox? He developed wings and crowed like a rooster for nearly a week. Bloody adorable.”

Hermione smiled at her husband for a beat before turning to Sam. “You’ve done well. You’ve kept his magical bursts contained. The first year is the most unpredictable. As they start to develop more self-awareness and an ability to understand the world around them, it gets much easier. You can generally make them control theirselves with guidance and discipline.”

“How does a regular guy control the little wizard of Oz?” Josh asked.

“Patience. And a lot of time outs,” Ginny explained. “Granted a good binding spell does come in handy.” She looked at Sam. “We’ll work on that down the road. In the meantime it sounds like we head back down to L.A. and get cracking on deciphering all this new information.” She threw her sister-in-law a smile. “Mainly you because this kinda is your cuppa.”

Hermione rolled her eyes with a good natured sigh. “You lot all know how to read as well. I’ve seen proof.”

“But you do it so much better,” Ron responded.

“Okay,” Zack said before the plan could get lost again in the banter. “So, we’re just all going back to our battle-stations? What if Willow pops up here?”

“We know Willow is focused on the Hellmouth at the moment,” Cordy replied. “If she manages to open it before we stop her, we bust up here and get Sam and Oz out and secure. We’ve got eyes in Kansas and my guess is that they’ll be figuring out a way to knock some major sense into Will. Hard if Buffy’s doing the knocking.”

“Yup,” Wright agreed with his wife. “So…” he looked to Sabrina. “How watched is the Hyperion right now?”

“They’re keeping tabs on you guys. Wolfram and Hart requested to know who entered and exited. I don’t know, but assume there are possible listening devices in proximity.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Zack drawled.

“We can handle that,” Harry said. “Sabrina ran into Percy early this morning. He’s aware and onboard. He and Sabrina can trace from the inside and the rest of us can suss out any magic and disarm it.”

“We can’t start going and hexing their Aurors,” Ron said flatly. “Ginny.”

“Watch it, wanker,” she warned her brother. “I can outmatch you on your best of days. Try doing it with a broken nose.”

“Ron’s right,” Hermione gave the man a chance to revel in his satisfaction. “We have to be subtle. At least until we know exactly how intimate the relationship between MACUSA and Wolfram and Hart truly is.”

“Cool,” Zack concluded. “Now let’s go before Wolfram and Hart decides to kidnap me again. I’d kinda like to see my tiny juvenile delinquents today. If nothing else, watch them play with their kitten.”

“Fuck you again for that,” Wright said as he turned to leave the room. “Figure out how you’re gonna explain it went to live on a farm after I ship it to Spike for a tasty snack.”

Zack just let him run his mouth. Both their wives would kick his ass first. If not, pretty sure he had a girl who’d drive herself back to California to knock a new hole in her daddy’s head for being cruel to her baby sis and little cousins like that.

And thinking of Rosalie was the kick in the pants he needed. He’d never forget the trauma he’d inflicted on her when he attacked her that night. Or the lifetime on death row he’d sentenced her to when he’d killed Faith. So yeah, if this meant they might actually have a shot in taking down that fucking evil law firm once and for all, he’d sit down and read every fucking word on every fucking page.

He just hoped he wasn’t expected to comprehend it.

Thank fuck he knew Hermione Granger-Weasley. “Let’s roll.”

*~*~*

This was a giant crock of shit. Everyone was scattered around the place like it was fucking study hall, expecting to suddenly find the secret answer written in some dusty old book or scroll. Dean stood up and whipped his phone out of his pocket.

“Whatcha doing?” Faith asked, her eyes still staring at the same page she’d been looking at the last five minutes.

“Ordering a pizza,” he grumbled as he sent out a text. “Figure the delivery man might understand Latin.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Giles quipped. “Dead languages are about as useful as a philosophy degree.”

Mary smacked her book down on the table. “Don’t tell me you majored in philosophy. I’m not sure I could stand listening to that for the rest of my life.” She looked down at the open text before her. “However short that may be.”

“And that in itself is a philosophical quandary.” Giles smirked. “But alas, I did not.”

“Okay,” Faith sighed in defeat. “I’m gonna go check on the others. Maybe B’s had some luck if Spike hasn’t shredded her panties by now.”

“Vampires lurking in the shadows,” Buffy’s voice called from the next room. Dean didn’t see them at any of the tables, so he assumed they were sitting in some of the chairs off to the side. “Panties still fully intact if you’d like to check.”

“My bet’s on Bite Size being the first for a study break,” Spike rang out. “Or Harris. Can’t believe we brought him here so he could take a bloody nap.”

Faith sniggered. “Being that dumb has to be exhausting.”

“Stop it,” Buffy lightly chided. “Gunn kept Xander up all night working the backlog of jobs at Wright and Pryce. They’re missing over half the crew.”

Dean felt something jab him in the back. He turned around to find his delivery man holding a pizza box. “You missed the cutoff,” he snapped as he snatched the food. “Means it’s free.”

“Like I expected you to pay. Adorable,” Crowley drawled.

Faith walked up while the demon made with his usual dickish remarks and cold-cocked him a punch so hard he stumbled onto his ass.

“Hello, Sugar Tits,” Crowley said in a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “My guessing is Squirrel hasn’t given you your morning rub down.” He gave Dean a smarmy smirk. “If you called me for another peep show, I’m quite obliged.”

“Hold the phone,” Buffy said, walking up on the scene. “This is the local pervert?” She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“Buffy Summers,” Crowley said as he hoisted himself upright and dusted off his black suit. “Big fan. Love how you took something so good as slayer blood and mixed it with vampire. Such a delicious cocktail.”

Spike growled and took up real estate between his mate and the King of Hell.

“Oh, William,” Crowley beamed. “Haven’t seen you since your slayer killing days. My how we’ve both changed.”

“Crowley,” Spike snarled.

“You know him?” Buffy asked before shaking her head. “Of course, you guys must’ve all been in the Evil League of Evil together.”

“He had a thing for your ex,” Spike said shortly.

“Angel?” Faith sneered at the demon. “What, you two were butt buddies back in the good ole days?”

“Not quite. Souls are kinda a turnoff for me. Very few exceptions.” He winked at Faith before darting his eyes to Spike. “That Drusilla though.” He released a low whistle. “She was a wild one, right?”

“Stop with the color commentary,” Dean snapped. “Not why I called you here.”

Faith whirled on him. “You called him here? What the fuck, dude?”

He met her angry stare, but really didn’t feel like another fight at the moment. He gave her an apology with his eyes. “He knew about the last ingredient—“

“The one you fucked up and let Lucifer get?” Crowley hissed. “Yes, I remember telling you _not to fuck that up_!” He roared.

“Well, you left out the part where the witch was _Willow fucking Rosenberg_!” Faith screamed back.

Crowley looked with indignation. “Like that would have changed anything?”

“It would have been nice to know,” Dean responded. He looked over to see that Sam was now standing in the doorway with a posse behind him. Apparently Crowley and Faith’s voices had carried down the hall.

“Was this really it?” the demon asked. “You texted me for a pizza and a tongue lashing?”

“No.” Dean realized he was still holding the pizza box and tossed it over to the table. “You knew about the salt. What’s left as far as ingredients?”

God, he hated asking Crowley for help. He never could do anything without going off on a fucking power trip. This was no exception as he watched the smug bastard look around the room with a cocky smirk.

“Hello, Moose,” he said as he spotted the man. “Funny again that it’s your brother asking _me_ for help, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Sam spat. “Considering you’re usually part of the problem.”

“So you saw him?” Crowley said turning back Dean. “Saw that Wolfram and Hart replaced his old meat suit?”

“Yeah. It was definitely old Nick’s face calling the shots in KC. So what fucking ingredients are left?”

“Just one,” Crowley said, holding up a single finger. “The blood of the last one who shut it.”

“Cassandra Hart?” Sam asked. “She’s long dead.”

Crowley shrugged. “Sources say there’s something lying around. A vial or some other contraption out there containing her blood. Haven’t read the spell for myself, but it sounds about right in a poetic sense.”

“So, if there isn’t any blood, there’s no chance of opening the Hellmouth.”

“There’s always blood,” Buffy said to Sam with an eye roll. “So now we find it first.”

“Lucifer is telling his minions to search the Men of Letters bunkers and chapter houses,” Crowley offered. “That’s the extent of my intel.”

“That’s it?” Sam cried, flashing Dean a frantic look. “There’s places all over the fucking map! We got St. Louis, Missoula, Ohio, Rhode Island and Roswell, New Mexico. How in the fuck are we supposed to hit five places and cover here at the same time?”

“I suggest teamwork,” Crowley simply replied. With that, he snapped his fingers and vanished.

“What a dick,” Faith grumbled under her breath.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed before turning to walk back to the table. Eyeing the box, he flipped it open and grabbed a slice, passing it to Faith before snatching one for himself. “Eat up. We’re hitting the road.” Taking a bite, he nodded to his brother.

“Who goes where?” Sam asked as he stepped in the room and went to grab a piece of pizza. Winchesters didn’t turn down a chance to fuel up before a hunt.

“Slayers stay closest to home,” Buffy suggested. “That way we can haul ass if something happens. So, St. Louis and…” She furrowed a brow. “I don’t know Missoula or Roswell.”

“Roswell actually,” Sam informed. “I’ve Googled this shit before.”

“Dork,” Dean said in passing. “So yeah. You girls duke it out,” he teased at both the slayers. “If it comes down to mud wrestling, I unfortunately request we reschedule for a later date and go with less erotic options like flipping a coin or drawing straws. Spike and I have to concentrate.” He gave the vampire a smirk and a nod.

“Lost my concentration at mud wrestling, mate.”

“Rosalie stays here,” Buffy stated loud enough for the youngest slayer to get the order.

“Seriously?” Rose whined, pushing past Nick and Dawn to enter the room. “Why?”

“Because we still have to lockdown this place, Ro,” Faith reminded. “You ain’t being given a shit job. This one’s kinda important.”

“Right,” Buffy agreed. “I don’t know. Maybe we call Zack and Kelly and have them drive to Missoula? Sam and Dawn can hit one?”

“Cas,” Dean said, looking for his buddy. He was likely off sulking from all the earlier abuse. “He can search Rhode Island between running his Willow tracker.”

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted. “But I know we can’t wait around.” She looked to Faith. “Wanna call dibs?”

Faith shook her head. “Both sound equally shitty.”

Dean reached out and squeezed Faith’s shoulder. “Figure it out. I’m packing our bag and meeting you at the car in five.” He paused and whipped around to grab one more slice for the road. Then he changed his mind and threw his food down and snatched the whole box. It was his fucking pizza, technically. Closing the lid, he walked off with what was likely his last meal of the day.

At least this was better than sitting around reading.


	38. Chapter 38

“This isn’t going to be good news, is it?”

Buffy winced as she slid into the passenger seat of the yellow Olds. The faint aroma of Dean Winchester’s boxers still lingered in the air…as did that of Dawn’s underwear. Something she could have happily gone the rest of her life without smelling. It was bad enough to know every time anyone in proximity was aroused or had recently boinked. Sitting with the smell was close to downright torture.

“We need you guys to do something,” she said.

Spike slid behind the wheel and cranked the window down. Hopefully the drive would give the car time to air-out—air-fresheners were the last resort of the desperate vamp, since the smell was typically on the intense side.

“Buff…” Zack sighed in her ear. “We literally just got landed with a metric ton of homework and it all seems pretty damn important.”

“Saving the world important?”

“Well…”

Buffy sighed and rolled her head back as Spike started the car. “Tell me.”

“Wolfram and Hart and MACUSA are connected. Harry and some witch you don’t know stole an assload of intel from MACUSA today and we need to work through it.” A pause. “But…is this about Rosalie? About the Hellmouth?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” It was Zack’s turn to swear. “What?”

“The Winchesters have a demon friend who knows what the last ingredient is that Lucifer needs and where we might find it.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There was a muffled sound in the background. “Buffy, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve seen my kids?”

She frowned and exchanged a perplexed look with Spike, who was, of course, listening to the conversation. “Umm, no? Been a bit busy over here.”

“Really? What’s that like?” he replied sarcastically.

“Oi, mate!” Spike snapped. “Don’t make pull bloody rank on you. Fancy havin’ a world where the tykes actually get to grow the hell up? Get yourself some wheels and hit the bloody road to Missoula.”

“What the fuck’s in Missoula?”

“Wankers of Letters compound. Might have some slayer blood stashed away. The sort that’ll open the bleeding Hellmouth. Aim to find it before the sodding devil does, and seein’ as you and the missus can sniff out blood from a mile off, you’ve been volunteered. So shut your gob and get moving.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be crabby,” Zack said in a smaller voice. “Just…all of this at once.”

Buffy placed a hand on Spike’s. “I know,” she said. “We both do.”

“And we don’t know what to do with the kids.” He barked a strangled laugh. “Wright and Cordy are likely catching a plane to Wichita tonight, but there’s baby Kelly to worry about, and Rosie and William… If MACUSA or Wolfram and Hart learn that we robbed them today, the kids are—”

“Send them away,” Buffy said shortly.

“Where? My mom’s had her mind erased and everyone I know is either chasing danger or already in it.”

Spike shot the phone a worried look, the sort that warmed Buffy’s heart. The past few years had been a rollercoaster, but he would always worry about Zack’s kids. The same way he would always worry about Rosalie, no matter that she was older now and a slayer to boot.

“What about the wizards? They have family?”

“Buffy, you _have _read _Harry Potter_, haven’t you? He’s like the most famous orphan in the world.”

“No, I haven’t. Been a bit busy the past few years and I don’t have small children.”

“What about the ginger? Bloke has a big family, doesn’t he?” Spike asked loudly. He met Buffy’s gaze and gave a sheepish shrug. “What? Bloody brilliant bit of reading, love.”

“When do you have time to read? And how?”

“Been doin’ it just fine for a century and a half, thanks,” he replied, his tone a bit dry. “A bloke can’t have hobbies?”

“Your hobbies are swindling demons and killing things.”

“Always been a reader, pet.” He waggled his brows. “Wouldn’t mind reading them to you, if you like.”

“Is…is this becoming a sex thing?” Zack asked. “Because we were just talking about my kids and it’s a little weird if this is a sex thing. Especially since the books are about people I know now in real life but when they were kids.”

Buffy snickered, but gave Spike an encouraging shrug. If he wanted to read to her in that low, sexy voice of his, she’d let him. “So is there a supporting character with a bunch of family, like Spike said?”

“Yeah, Ron,” Zack agreed with a sigh. “But…I don’t know how much of the books is real and how much was made up. None of the wizards are big fans of Rowling.”

“Well, ask, Zack,” Buffy snapped. “We need help.”

“You know what _doesn’t _help? That tone.”

“Zangy, you bein’ wanker for kicks or what?”

“Of course I’ll ask!” Zack replied sharply. “But it’s a little weird, going to a wizard I’ve known for five minutes and asking if our kids can stay with whatever family he has left, oh, a freaking continent away. You realize you’re suggesting sending the kids to people we’ve never met in a foreign country.”

“You understand that if the Hellmouth opens—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said shortly. “Sorry. I’m just…”

But he didn’t say what he was _just_—he didn’t need to. Buffy understood. It was wiggy enough that the actual devil was the Big Bad at the moment—throw in anything Wolfram and Hart related, plus an unstable Willow, and small children to worry about, and she imagined things in California were about ready to go boom just from the stress level alone.

“It’s okay,” Buffy said a moment later, her tone softer. “I know it’s been… Well, nonstop fun, huh?”

Zack barked a laugh. “There’s a word for it. You guys staying safe?”

She snorted. “Never.”

“And… Wright said that if the Hellmouth opens, it can only be closed with slayer blood?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Buffy said, cutting a glance to Spike, whose grip on the steering wheel had become rigid. They hadn’t had much chance to continue the conversation about what happened if the Hellmouth opened, mostly because Spike refused to listen to any talk that included her jumping inside to close it.

There was a beat. Then, “It’s Faith, right?” Zack said softly. “If it comes down to it. Faith gets the honors of dying. We’ve all agreed on that, right?”

“Yes,” Spike barked.

“No,” Buffy growled, throwing her mate what he called one of her if-looks-could-stake looks. “My blood might work just fine.”

“But it probably won’t, is what I’m saying,” Zack said.

“Right. So it makes no bloody sense for the Slayer to off herself if the other bird’s just gonna have to do it anyway. No sense losin’ both when we know for certain whose will work.”

“Right,” Zack agreed.

Buffy swallowed hard, trying to push down her irritation. She knew this came from a place of love—that Spike was terrified of losing her and hey, the thought of taking that dive terrified her too. Life since she’d awakened at the Hyperion as a vampire had certainly been unpredictable. Wonderful most of the time with rock-bottoms sprinkled liberally throughout. But everything that had come her way had been manageable because she knew she had him with her—even the worst things. Still, there were times when his lack of a soul smacked her in the face. It didn’t make her love him any less—rather, reminded her just how far he’d come—but there were things they would never agree on, ever. Spike would always choose her at the expense of someone else. That was just the way he was. And sure, in most situations if presented with the same stakes, she’d return the favor. But it would never be an easy decision for her. It would be something that remained with her for the rest of eternity.

She’d told him, right after they first got together, that she was done being the Slayer. And she’d meant it. Then and the million other moments that had spanned the years they’d been together when it had come down between her and the world. Buffy would live forever and she very much did not want to always be the one responsible for stopping the apocalypse. But she also couldn’t turn her back on it, nor could she be cavalier when discussing the death of someone else. Not too long ago, Spike had held her to him after she’d learned about Faith’s death, and she knew he’d meant that. She also knew he didn’t wish Faith dead, that the decision was personal only insofar as Faith making the leap meant that Buffy didn’t. All these things she knew.

“It’s not that simple,” Buffy said, her voice low and measured. She really didn’t trust herself to expand upon that.

Spike tossed her a look that promised this argument would come to a head—either when they arrived in Roswell or he’d pull over and they’d have it out. The line of his jaw firmed and his eyes hardened. Whatever happened would likely end with them having angry sex, which was at least something to look forward to, because the conversation itself was not going to be a fun one.

“Buff,” Zack said, “it’s not that I want Faith to die. I mean, I did actually kill her that one time, sure, but soul-having me has nothing against her. I just really don’t want _you _dead or my niece. I’m not going to be sorry about playing favorites.”

At that, her heart melted a little. Spike reached over and seized her hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Well,” she replied at length, “I’ve never once let a hellmouth best me and I’m not looking to start anytime soon. Giles is hitting the books, going over everything we did in Sunnydale every time ours started to act up. Odds are no one’s going to have to make the dive.”

“Slayer, I will personally shove Faith inside if it comes down to it,” Spike said, tightening his grip on her hand, likely in anticipation that she would pull away. She didn’t even try. “Bag me my third and save your lickable arse all in one go. Don’t sodding care if you hate me for a bloody century—got plenty of experience takin’ abuse from the women I love. As long as I keep you on this ground, that’s all I care about. You promised me forever and I’m not lettin’ you welsh on me.”

“And before you yell at him,” Zack jumped in, “I will help. Again, nothing against Faith, but I am playing favorites. Kelly will too.”

Buffy’s eyes stung. “Kelly hates Faith because of what happened when you were soulless.”

“It’s true,” Kelly said from the background. “And I imagine I always will, even if she did save lives that night by fucking my husband, the way you all claim. But even if I didn’t hate her, you’ll have me and Zack holding you back while Spike does the dirty work and I won’t even say sorry.”

Spike’s mouth tugged into a grin. “Thanks ever so, pidge.”

“Like either of us would let you take the brunt yourself,” Kelly said dryly. “You’re family. Rosalie’s family. Faith is not. End of discussion.”

“So you can kick all three of our asses if you need to,” Zack chimed back in. “We can take it.”

Buffy was quiet, her heart full of affection and appreciation for the Morrises, as well as bone-rattling dread for whatever came next. She squeezed Spike’s hand once in reassurance, though she knew he could read her well enough to know that the conversation wasn’t over. It hadn’t even really started. And god-willing, it never would. They’d find Cassandra Hart’s blood in Roswell. Or Zack and Kelly would in Missoula. Or Faith and Dean in St. Louis, Dawn and Sam in Ohio, Castiel in Rhode Island. They’d get ahead of this before tough decisions had to be made.

“Talk to Ron about the kids,” Buffy said at length. “Get them safe. We need your help.”

“We’re on it,” Zack said firmly.

“Love you guys,” Kelly added. Then the call disconnected and the car fell silent for a beat.

“Not gonna let you go, Slayer,” Spike said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Either I toss her in or I dive in after you.”

“Spike—”

“No. Won’t sodding hear it. Those are your choices.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Love you too much to do anythin’ but.”

Buffy released a long breath, the irritation dying. She scooted across the bench of the Olds and snuggled into his side. “I love you, too.”

“Soulless bastard that I am.”

“Yeah, but you’re my soulless bastard.” She pressed a kiss to the base of his throat near the mark she’d given him when they’d made it official. “We always find a way, you and me. No matter what.”

Spike huffed but didn’t reply. He lifted his arm and relaxed slightly when she took the open invitation and snuggled up beside him.

This conversation would continue, she knew, but for the moment, she could let it drop.

And hope that they were closer to a resolution by the time they needed to pick it up again.

*~*~*

The first thing Zack did upon reentering the Hyperion was storm up to his quarters to grab his kids—something Rosie did not appreciate, as it had taken her attention away from the kitten. The girl was a few years away still from being a teenager, but she had the attitude down pat.

She also had the intuition of a full-fledged adult, and though he knew this, it still kind of wigged him out when she used it.

“You’re going away again, aren’t you?”

Zack swallowed hard, looking at Kelly over his daughter’s head. “We need to help Uncle Spike and Aunt Buffy with something,” he said. “Something important.”

Rosie nodded against him, then pulled back and regarded him with adult eyes set into a child’s face. “Blood,” she said simply. “To keep Aunt Buffy and Rosalie from dying.”

Yeah, there were times when his daughter downright creeped him out.

Zack pressed a kiss to her brow to hide this, then steeled himself. The wizards had held off on Apparating here until everyone was back in the fold, for obvious reasons, but the cracks that sounded from downstairs told him that the cast of Harry Potter had arrived. He had to come up with a way to casually invite his children to stay with a bunch of strangers.

For the Zack Morris of old, this would be nothing. He’d once excelled at getting people to do his bidding while thinking it was their idea all along. And while those were skills that never truly went away, the fact that the stakes were so much higher now left him feeling self-conscious and about to burst out of his skin. It was one thing when trying to convince your principal to let his smarmy brother take the senior class white water rafting—it was another when trying to convince strangers to volunteer their homes to watch his children in case an evil law firm and possibly the magical government of the United States decided to come after them.

Still, he thought he had an idea in place. It was simple but hopefully it would work.

When he and Kelly rejoined the group downstairs, he found his brother stuffing a small arsenal into his weapons chest, cursing about how the hell he was going to fit his crossbow in along with the battle axes, throwing knives, assortment of handguns and double-barrel shotguns. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were giving the man a wide berth, Ron muttering things under his breath about barmy Americans and their obsession with firearms.

Cordelia, who was patiently repacking everything Wright threw into the chest, stopped short when she saw the look on Zack’s face. “What is it?” she asked, and everything in the room came to a standstill.

Zack sighed. Kelly squeezed his hand.

“Buffy called on the way here,” he said. “They have a lead on the last ingredient to open the Hellmouth.”

Wright dropped one of his rifles. Ron gasped and threw himself in front of Hermione, but the thing didn’t go off.

“What is it?” Wright demanded, storming toward him. “Is it—”

“The blood of the last person who closed the Hellmouth,” Zack said, holding up his hands. “So…the Slayer who jumped. The Winchesters have a demon friend who thinks it might be at old…” He frowned and looked to Kelly. “Spike said Wankers of Letters, but I’m sure that’s not right.”

“Men of Letters,” Hermione said, managing to get around Ron who still seemed to think the gun might fire on its own at any second. “They are a branch of the Watchers Council.”

“The compound where Sam and Dean are holed up is a Men of Letters thing,” Wright said, nodding. “So what about them?”

“Well, there are apparently other compounds around the country and everyone’s split up to go hunt them out. Buffy’s asked that me and Kel hit the one in Missoula.” Zack kept his hands up, anticipating an objection from the wizards, given the amount of reading they’d been saddled with. “We’re vamps. If there’s blood there, we’ll be able to sniff it out. So I’m sorry, but—”

“You’re going,” Wright said shortly, then rounded on the wizards. “This isn’t a debate. My daughter—”

Harry held up a hand. “We know. Just spoke a piece to that Lyman fellow about the same, didn’t we?”

At that, Wright deflated, looking both relieved and exhausted. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“There’s more,” Zack said, and reached for the part of himself that had gotten him through high school and college. “Buffy thinks we should send the kids away since everyone’s going to be, well, everywhere and nowhere’s safe.” He looked down, sighing hard. “But my only family doesn’t know I’m alive anymore and she’d… Well, Wolfram and Hart found her easy enough the last time. Kel’s folks would be easy to find too.” He looked to Cordelia, beseeching. “I don’t suppose—”

“Oh no,” Cordy replied, shaking her head hard. “My parents suck and they live in Sunnydale. Not going to leave my daughter at another hellmouth. I don’t care how _closed _it is. But yeah, loving the idea of sending Kelly away somewhere, because if you’re not here, it’s down to just Gunn and Lisa.” She glanced at the wizards. “And you guys, but you can’t be here twenty-four-seven. I’d really love to not have to worry about my baby while trying to keep my teenager from being sacrificed.”

Zack fought a smile, though inside he was doing a happy dance. Damn, if he’d known Cordelia in high school, they would have made a spectacular power couple.

Kelly elbowed him as though she’d heard that thought.

“Err…” Ron cleared his throat. “I might be able to help, but not sure how much you fancy your kids staying with complete strangers. In a completely different country, mind.”

Zack did his best to look politely curious. Part of this was pretending not to hear Kelly's soft snicker.

“My folks would take them in a heartbeat,” Ron continued. “Dad would love it, actually. He's fascinated by Muggles and the chance to spend that much time with kids would tickle him. Lily and Rose're already there. Summer holiday's coming up and then the boys'll be there too, if we haven't gone home by then.”

Kelly cleared her throat, and Zack almost groaned. He had to fight the urge to growl at her before she blew everything. “That's very kind,” she said, “but Rosie's a handful for people she knows. Complete strangers? She—”

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione collectively sniggered. 

Kelly arched an eyebrow. “I'm not kidding. She—”

Ginny held up a hand, smirking. “Kelly, my mum and dad raised Fred and George Weasley. There is literally nothing that your daughter can do that would shock them.”

It was Zack's turn to snicker. “She'll take that as a challenge, you know.” Even if this was the outcome they’d wanted, the only polite thing was to warn them.

“Fred has been gone twenty years and George rarely comes home. Our dad still can't lift the hex they placed on their room,” Ron added. “Hermione here got a black eye just by picking up one of their products once.”

Harry and Ginny chuckled; Hermione raised her chin and gave them all a reproachful look. “Still not funny,” she said.

“Right, and that’s the sort of house that Rosie’ll destroy.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, mate,” Ron said. “You can’t bloody destroy the Burrow. And if she crosses my mum, well, heaven help the little tyke, ’cause no one else will. Even Fred and George were scared of her.”

Zack and Kelly exchanged a glance, and he could tell she was thinking the same thing he was. Perhaps the Weasley household would do their daughter good.

“What about Kelly?” Cordelia asked. “She’s crawling now and might be more of a—”

“Mum can handle it,” Ginny said soundly. “I promise. As long as the lot of you are good with our parents watching your kids—”

“Honestly, the thought of putting an ocean between them, Wolfram and Hart and MACUSA might actually help me get to sleep tonight,” Cordelia said, looking to Wright. “If it’s all right with you… I won’t be able to do much in Kansas if I’m worried about Kelly.”

Wright’s expression was set in a frown that Zack didn’t know how to read. This would not be a decision he took lightly or necessarily felt good about making, whichever way it swung. Out of everyone in the room, he alone knew the pain of losing a child—something he kept buried but always within reach.

“It wouldn’t do to take her to Kansas,” Zack said softly. “I know you want to, but if the Hellmouth opens there, you’ll have her and Rosalie to worry about. And Lucifer and Willow too, never mind everything else they might throw at us.”

Wright met his gaze, nodded. “I know. Just…” He glanced at Ron. “Everything I know about your folks comes from the books. I don’t want to be an ass and assume that it’s true. That—”

“It’s true,” Ron and Ginny said together.

“Honestly, mate,” Ron said in a hushed undertone, “that Rowling bird got most of it right. Details here and there are off, but…there’s a reason we’re not fans. Would be a bit better if she were more like Rita bloody Skeeter—at least that much we could laugh off as rubbish. But people read Rowling and…”

“But not a word,” Harry said. “We don’t talk about it if we can help it.”

Wright relaxed then and nodded. “Okay. Then yeah, if my brother’s kids are going there, then I’d like Kelly to go too.” He glanced to Hermione. “Guess this means we’re not going to be of much help when it comes to research.”

Hermione barked a laugh, then shook her head. “Oh no,” she said, clutching the beaded handbag. “No, no, no. I got stuck doing homework for these two for six bloody years. No, you’re all going to take reading with you and keep in touch if you find anything of use.”

“What—how?” Cordelia nodded at the handbag. “Are you going to divvy that up? What happens if we lose it?”

Hermione gave her a look that Zack figured would earn anyone else a bitch slap, then shook her head, muttered something about Muggles, and withdrew her wand.

Fifteen minutes later, Cordelia and Kelly were examining their new beaded handbags with awe and wonder. Hermione had made perfect replicas of each, plus a third for Sabrina. On Cordelia and Kelly’s bags, she had placed an additional Charm called _Engorgio_, which had caused both handbags to swell to the size of a small suitcase.

“It’ll be a bit of a trick to get any of the documents out,” Hermione had explained. “We just do a Summoning Charm. But you both will need to physically crawl inside to get the reading out.”

Cordelia looked like she might cry as she studied her bag. “And…I can keep this?”

“Oh yes.” Hermione rocked on her heels, looking rather proud. “They’re both bewitched so that only a trusted party may look at the contents. So if you lose it, or of someone steals it, they won’t find anything of value in there. I also hexed the documents themselves—should they remain outside of either bag for a period longer than twelve hours, it will immediately vanish and reappear inside the bag.”

“So I’ll have to carry MACUSA and Wolfram and Hart documents with me everywhere forever?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No. Once we have what we need, I can undo that hex and we can dispose of the copies.”

Wright grunted and made to snatch the bag from Cordelia. “This thing must be heav—” But he overbalanced in anticipation of a great weight and nearly stumbled over. He blinked, awed. “It feels…empty.”

“Magic,” Hermione said. She looked between Wright and Zack. “We can’t trust owls won’t be intercepted, so we’re going to have to rely on Muggle methods of communication. Harry and I both have phones. I’ve already programmed the numbers into all of yours.”

Kelly blinked. “How—”

“Magic,” Harry, Ron, and Ginny echoed, looking amused.

“I say we attempt to conference call every night at nine o’clock to discuss our findings,” Hermione added. “Obviously, this might not work _every_ night, but I do think we should attempt to keep communication open. Oh.” She nodded at Kelly’s handbag. “And I’ve charmed that to duplicate at the touch of Rupert Giles. I know we didn’t leave on the best terms, but I assume he would prefer to have his own set of records to review, rather than rely on yours.”

“Hermione, you’re brilliant,” Zack said hoarsely. “Truly—”

“Yes, we know,” Ron said. “Bloody good thing Harry and I decided to find it charming when we were in our first years, otherwise the lot of us would be well and truly buggered.”

Hermione turned a bit pink but looked pleased nonetheless. Then she regarded Zack with a knowing look, the corner of her mouth turned up. “And you, Mr. Morris, are rather adept at getting people to do what you want.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m fairly certain you had Molly and Arthur’s in mind for your children before you joined us.”

If he could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he exchanged a sheepish look with Kelly, then shrugged. “That’s certainly possible.”

“Next time,” Hermione said wisely, though she looked thoroughly amused, “you can just ask.”

“Yeah, but my way’s more fun.”

*~*~*

They’d managed to steer clear of really deep subjects for the bulk of the ride to St. Louis, and it had only been after Faith had dared Dean to let her take a turn at the wheel while he was sober that they’d broken into an impromptu game of Truth or Dare. Given the restrictions of the road, Faith had a list of the dares they owed one another to complete when things calmed down.

On Dean’s list: karaoke Brittney Spears, go vegan for three days, and be cordial to Giles for a complete twelve hour period even though the man was doing his mom. Also, Dean was to refrain from mentioning the aforementioned relationship with his mom in any way that was argumentative, snide, or passive aggressive. Every time he slipped, the clock would restart.

On Faith’s list: karaoke Brittney Spears (not at the same time, and preferably not on the same night), kiss Buffy with tongue in front of Spike, and—

“You seriously want me to rank you? Are you that insecure? I’m still doing you, aren’t I? Think I’d waste my time if I wasn’t getting it good?”

Dean beamed at that and tossed her a wink. “Good to know, but yeah. I wanna know how I compare.”

“You gonna do the same for me?”

“Baby, you know you’re at the top. There ain’t no woman alive that could keep up with you.”

Faith grinned and winked back. “Yeah, but a girl likes to hear it.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. Like everything else, you have an unfair advantage.”

She smothered a laugh at that and leaned against the passenger-side door. “All right,” she said calmly. “There are only three guys in the world who’ve managed to get me off every time we’ve been together. And of those three, there’s just been one who I’ve been with more than twice.”

“Damn.” Dean tossed her a glance that was half-hopeful, half-nervous.

“That one was Wes,” she said. “The one I was with twice. First time we fucked, it came from nowhere. I was trying to distract him ’cause Zack was over and he was hurtin’ because of what happened to Fred. Kept running my mouth, trying to get him thinking of something else. He cracked up, which cracked me up, and the next thing I knew, we were goin’ at it like rabbits.”

The light had somewhat faded from Dean’s gaze. “I didn’t ask for the gory details. Just a number works.”

“We got road to kill, don’t we?” Faith drew her leg up and rested her elbow on her knee, studying him intently, trying to determine if the hard set of his jaw was jealousy or not. And hoping it was because she didn’t think any guy had ever been jealous of her formers before. She’d never let them get to that point. “Second time we were just supposed to talk and then clothes came off. The next day was the day I died. Wes was…surprising. But I kinda think both times were flukes. Would have to take him out for another spin to be sure, but that ain’t gonna happen.”

He glanced her way. “No?”

“Even if he knew I was alive and we were in the same state? Ducky, it turns out it’s kinda hard to get wet for the guy who got you killed.” Faith rested the back of her head against the window. “He didn’t dethrone my long-standing number one, though.”

“This is gonna be someone else I know, isn’t it?”

“Wright. I was a statutory thing then and high on hating myself. On the way to LA to see about a vamp. We crossed paths at a bar by a motel. This was back in his early days of hunting—before he found Cordy and settled down. I think it was because we hated ourselves so much that the sex was so good. I wasn’t a virgin or nothing when that happen, but he was the first guy who well and truly fucked me.”

Dean released a slow, measured breath. “Okay. Again, details aren’t exactly what I’m lookin’ for here, but thanks for putting everything in Technicolor.” He tossed her a glance. “Just tell me number three ain’t Nick.”

The thought alone was so ludicrous Faith burst out laughing so hard she hit the back of the window again, this time with enough impact to hurt. This only made the question funnier, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach as her fit intensified.

After a few seconds passed and she started to get a hold of herself, Dean broke in, his voice lighter. “Gonna guess that’s a no.”

“It’s a hell no. Nick was…fine. Beige. There wasn’t any fire behind it because all it was was a hookup.” These words were out before she could stop them, and damn, if that didn’t make her feel self-conscious, because _just a hookup _was supposed to be what she and Dean were. But fuck, she refused to back down, so she’d just have to hope that when he started to preen and gloat, he’d focus more on where he ranked than about what she’d said before she got to her new number one. “Reason it was good with Wright and Wes was there was fire behind both. Never any fire with Nick. We could fuck or we could not. It didn’t matter. He wanted to be fucking someone else most of the time we knew each other, anyway.”

“And that didn’t bother you?”

“Maybe a bit but not in the way you think.” When he looked at her again, she shrugged and directed her gaze out the windshield. “It was good with Wright because of the fire—like I said, we were both high on self-hate. But Wes was the first guy I was with who seemed to actually want _me_. Not just easy access pussy. And I think that’s what made it good, to be honest. Wright didn’t want me but he wanted something more than just a fuck—he wanted to feel something. Wes did too. With Nick, it was just a fuck. There was nothing else there. Dunno if I would’ve known the difference had Wes and I not been a thing for five minutes. It didn’t bother me that Nick wished I was someone else—it bothered me that _I_ wasn’t wanted. That I could’ve been just anyone with just anyone and it wouldn’t have mattered. Fuck, I think that’s bothered me from the get-go.”

Jesus Christ, she needed to shut the fuck up. Hell, she should have just done the ranking thing like he’d said.

After a beat that stretched on a hair too long to still be comfortable, Dean cleared his throat and said, “So…number three?”

“Still wanna know, huh?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment.”

She snorted. Yeah, so was she, it seemed. “The cold truth, Ducky, is that my number three actually did dethrone Wright.”

Dean jerked his head toward her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But don’t tell him. It’ll go to his head and I don’t think I can fucking stand it.”

“Well, if he’s earned it, he’s earned it,” he said quickly. “Ain’t an easy keeping a slayer satisfied.” Now his chest was puffed out and he looked downright giddy. “Might be the highlight of his day to hear he’s a slayer’s best lay. When you think about it, it’s downright cruel to _not _tell the guy.”

Faith bit her lower lip to keep from snickering. “Yeah. And he’s had a rough day today.”

Dean gave an exaggerated nod. “Very rough.”

“The poor baby.”

He poked out his lower lip. “The poorest.”

“So, you have his number, right?”

The effect was immediate. Dean turned to her, his eyes wide and confused. “Huh?”

“Sounds like I need to call Cas. Make his day all better.”

“Ca—what. _Cas_?” The question came out somewhere between squawk and a shout. “I thought you said he was—”

Faith burst out laughing again—she couldn’t help it, and this time the laughter didn’t stop. And it felt good—really fucking good, especially after the fucked up day she’d had with emotions all over the fucking place and the threat of her next possible death on the horizon. She laughed so hard her stomach cramped and her sides ached, laughed until her eyes were stinging with tears and her lungs cried uncle. Laughed so hard the sound of Dean saying her name seemed muffled and far away.

It was only when she felt Dean cupping the back of her neck that the laughter died. And she realized they’d pulled over to the side of the road.

“Oh good,” Dean said shortly, though his eyes were bright. “Thought that might’ve broken you.”

“In my defense, it was fucking funny.”

“Yeah. Real laugh riot over here.” He thumbed away one of the tears that had spilled down her cheek, and she had to stifle another outburst before it erupted off her lips. “You’re gonna pay for that later, you know,” he said in a low tone.

“Why do you think I said it, Ducky?”

Dean smirked and pulled her to him for what she assumed was meant to be a quick kiss, but soon turned into one of the makeout sessions she knew would end them in the backseat if they weren’t careful. So, after a few seconds, she pushed on his chest until he took the hint and resituated himself behind the wheel, his lips swollen and his eyes a bit glassy. He flashed her a grin and started up the car again.

The air was quiet for a beat. Then another.

“Just for the record,” he said, “your new number one is me, right? I dethroned Mr. Hot Hate Sex. That’s what I got outta that.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Fuck me.”

“Love to, bein’ your number one, but we got places to be.” He aimed one of those grins that managed to be mischievous boy and naughty adult all rolled up into one. “Just say it. You know you wanna.”

“Bite me, Winchester.”

“Is that how I got to number one?”

“You’re dangerously close to being cut off for life.”

“Nah, you couldn’t do that. Not to the best sex of your life.”

“You wanna try me?”

“That’s it. That counts. I’m calling it. You admitted it was me.” Dean did a little head and shoulder victory dance, the stupid-ass grin in place. “Ducky for the win.”

“Just drive, you cocky motherfucker.”

“Because the sooner we get this done, the sooner we—”

“That’s it.” Faith leaned over and started playing with the radio. “Not gonna land on a station until I hear Nickelback.”

Dean seized her hand before she could do more than hop a few stations. “All right. Back away from the radio and no one gets hurt.”

“You’ll be a good ducky?”

He nodded, though she saw the lie in his eyes.

Faith arched an eyebrow, then gave him a sweet smile. A super sweet smile.

“Okay, stop,” he said. “That’s freaking me out.”

“Just drive.”

“Yes, mistress.” But he smirked and tugged her across the bench so she was right up against him, and at that, Faith gave up.

For about twenty seconds.

“So,” she said slowly, “truth or dare?”


	39. Chapter 39

“Is it just me, or are we all still kinda weirded out that Giles has a girlfriend?” Xander asked at random. “And that she’s younger and hotter.”

Nick cast a dubious glance first to Xander and then to Giles. “You honestly tell me this git helped save the world?”

“Hey now!” Xander snapped defensively. “I was just posing discussion topics to help pass the time.”

Giles gave the younger watcher an appreciative smile. “We were all shocked.”

The research group had thinned considerably since that smarmy demon had showed a few hours ago. Giles and Mary, this Xander and his partner Anya, and he and Rose. Nick had already texted Lorne to say he didn’t plan to open the bar tonight.

So, he wasn’t surprised when Lorne showed up at the bunker and looking meaner and greener than usual. “Nicky, you and I need to have a chat.”

“What the fuck?” Xander sputtered. “How big is this place? And where did he come from?”

Anya cocked her head. “Pylea I believe.”

“Huh?” Lorne gave her a curious glance. “Were you a demon at some point in the last millennia?”

Anya cracked a wide smile. “Thank you for noticing!”

“Lorne is Nick’s business partner,” Rosalie explained.

“Business partner is a loose term. You don’t have a business if you don’t _open_ it for business,” Lorne snapped.

Dammit. He hadn’t wanted to mention anything to Rose. At least until after she noticed he’d never left for work. He rose from his seat at the table. “Can we discuss this anywhere else?”

“Sure. The bar. As you open it. In about,” Lorne glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. “About an hour.”

“He’s right,” Rose said, also rising to her feet. “You can’t just put life on hold because we’re staring at another apocalypse on the horizon.”

Anger hit him in the chest. He cast her a scornful look and saw by the way her eyes widened slightly that she knew he was close to a tantrum. “My life is _you_. That bloody bar is _you_. The whole reason I ever came to America was _you_. And this fucking apocalypse involves _you_. So how am I putting my life on hold by walking away from critical research to pour drinks to a bunch of demons and wankers, love?”

“I’m not on the list, remember?” His little Slayer clapped back. “Buffy and Faith proverbially grounded my ass.”

Nick took a steadying breath and pinched the bridge of his nose in attempt to calm himself. Jesus, he felt like they’d stepped back in time to the year of frustration he’d lived as her Watcher. “You’re always on the list. If anything happens to Faith” He looked up at her and emphasized himself. “_Again_!”

Rose folded her arms and whipped her head to Giles. “Tell him how wrong he is.”

Giles shook his head vigorously. “Do not put me into your lovers quarrel.”

Mary snickered before turning to the couple with a more serious expression. “Look, you’re both right. A series of somethings could go wrong and this thing opens and Rosalie has to close it. But there’s a lot of time between now and then so we shouldn’t just sit around and wait for it.”

Nick scoffed. “The research—“

“Is in very capable hands,” Mary finished by placing a hand on Giles’ arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Rupert has more knowledge and experience on the subject than anyone alive or dead.”

“Uhh…” Xander said weakly. “I was kinda there, too.”

Mary gave the guy a condescending look. “Yeah, but I said knowledge so that cut you out of the running.”

Giles snorted. “Bloody hell, I love you,” he said giving Mary an adorning look.

“Fantastic!” Lorne said at last. “I think things are settled. Come on, lover boy. Let’s get to work.”

Nick almost stamped his feet like a petulant child. “Things are not bloody well settled!”

“Yes, they are,” Rosalie said in her patent Wright family tone. “Tonight at least, you’re going to get your ass down to that cantina and you’re gonna open it and you’re gonna make us lots of money.” She took a breath. “And I’m going to go change and patrol.”

“_Fuck no_!” Nick bellowed. “You are _not _patrolling alone.”

A dangerous look crossed her eyes. “Try and fucking stop me, Hunter. I dare you.” She unfolded her arms and took a menacing step forward. “That’s right. You can’t. And you don’t have Faith or Buffy here to be your muscle. You don’t even have Sam to threaten me with some stupid form of punishment.”

“Rose—“

“I’ve been living this life almost as long as Buffy and Faith. I was a hunter long before a slayer and I know damn well how to do my job.”

Giles cleared his throat. “It hasn’t been a full year since you were chosen. Slayer rules mandate—“

“Fuck the rules,” Rosalie huffed. “Besides, look around. Who’s here right now? Huh?”

“I won’t open the bar if you insist on going alone,” Nick threatened. “If not me, you’ll go out with someone else.”

“Giles and Mary need to research.”

“Fine,” Nick accepted. “Take Xander.”

“Uhh…” the man in question stuttered. “No offense, but I rather not. She kinda reminds me of her mom and it’s kinda freaky considering I dated her back in the day.”

Nick slowly turned to the man with a new surge of anger in his veins. “You’re attracted to her?”

“Not a lot…because I also see her dad and…well he kinda always scared me.”

“I’ll go,” Anya chimed in. “I find her neither attractive or scary. Also, slayers generally show off by killing all the demons and monsters before anyone else can participate. I do not mind this because it means I don’t have to put out much effort.”

Nick looked to Giles for help. In return he was met with a shrug. “She was once a vengeance demon.”

Nick glared up at his girlfriend. “You take the vengeance demon.”

“Former,” Anya added loudly. “I wish to clarify that to anyone who may have ability to kill me that I am now a full-blooded human.”

“I’m gonna ditch her,” Rosalie warned.

“And I will personally make sure you’re found.”

“Great!” Lorne chirped. “Sounds like you two lovebirds worked everything out. Let’s go, crumpet.”

He gave Rose one last look of contempt before allowing his business partner to drag him away. “I’m warning you, Rose.”

“And I’m ignoring you, Nick.”

He was relatively confident that Rosalie was the stubbornest of the slayers…and he’d met the competition.

*~*~*

Zack and Kelly had delayed leaving in order to pack the kids stuff and say their last goodbyes. Wright and Cordy had to go meet the plane to Wichita, so Kelly had also finished getting things ready for their baby niece.

Damn, it was hard. Zack had gave baby K snuggles and kisses before doing the same with his baby boy. Will was growing so fast, but he was still so quiet and shy. He didn’t do too good around strangers and Zack worried how hard it would be to adjust. “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered in his son’s ear after sitting down on his knees. “You get to go be inside _Harry Potter_. Truthfully, I’m jealous.”

“You are?” Will whispered back.

“Totally. Magic and fun. All the new toys and games. Man, you’re gonna get the coolest stories!” He pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Mom and I are just a phone call away. And we’ll try and call every day. Just don’t get worried if we miss one.” He kissed Will’s forehead. “I’ll buy you a present every day we miss, okay?”

That sealed the deal for the kid. Bribery was a key to any Morris heart. He wrapped his dad in a hug and gave him a kiss before running off to his mom.

Zack sighed as he looked up to see Rosie looking at him with those eyes that held a wisdom way beyond her years. He was still on his knees as he crooked a finger beckoning her closer. “You’re sending us away,” Rosie said when she approached. “You’re sending us away because someone’s going to die.”

“Do you know that?” He felt his breathing cease.

“No, but I know it’s bad.”

Zack sighed with relief. A vision was different than intuition or worry. “Well, unless you get a vision, try to keep the doom and gloom on the down low.”

“Are you really going to call like you told Will? You guys didn’t call before.”

“Last time was different. We were…” He didn’t really want to explain getting in touch with their inner vampire to his kid. “Camping.” Yeah, She didn’t buy it. “Whatever. Point is that yeah we plan on checking in.”

He felt like such a douchey dad with what he pulled from his pocket. He’d sent Lisa for it the second after the decision was made to send the kids overseas. Luckily, he was from California, the home of douchey dads. He was in good company. “Here,” he said placing the smartphone in her hands.

While a kitten was awesome to a nine year old, a cellphone was like winning the lottery. “Is this the iPhone XS Max?”

Zack looked down. “Fuck if I know,” he whispered. He looked up at her to watch her study the device with child-like wonder. “You know what this means?”

She was gone. Lost in her head and totally done listening to her dad. He cupped her cheeks with his hands and brought her face up to look at only his face. “Real talk, girlfriend.” She smiled and nodded. “I talked to Aunt Lisa and made sure I can track every call you make, every text you send, every app you open, every site you search and every move you make. You feel me?”

“Yes,” she said with an eye roll.

“I’m the king of schemes and cons. Remember that everything you think of, I’ve already done it twice. So no looking for any spells and black magic to pull any shit. And no porn.”

“Dad!” Rosie cried in embarrassment. “Porn? I’m nine!”

Zack looked up to see a room full of adults giving him the stink eye. Fuck them, this was his girl. “I’m just warning you.” He released her face and wrapped her in a giant hug. “Damn, I’m gonna miss you, baby,” he choked.

He smelled her tears as she started to cry. She wasn’t ever like other kids. She saved her tears for moments that mattered. And while it wasn’t the first time he’d had to leave her, this time was different. This time he was sending her away. “Please let me stay,” she whimpered into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But you know why you can’t.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you until the end of time.”

“I love you until the end of time,” she said as she pulled her face back to give him a pouty frown.

He tried not to break at the sight of her puffy, swollen eyes and pink tear-streaked cheeks. His brother had been so right when he described being a parent earlier today. “Just remember, they lock up kids over in England so don’t get too wild.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “No, they don’t.”

“Yeah,” he said with an eye roll. “They do. Azkaban is for adults, but they have a juvenile detention facility.”

“You’re lying.” He almost smiled when he saw a glimmer of doubt cross her face.

“I’m just warning you. My passport is out of date since college. It’ll take me some time to come and bust you out.” He kissed her cheek. “So be good. Call me at every stop.” He rose to his feet and turned to give Ginny Potter a wink. “They’re all yours.”

“Nice touch,” the witch said with a smirk as Rosie and Will ran to grab the carryons.

“It only works if you can sell it,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’ve got three at home. Got it covered, mate.”

*~*~*

“You first.”

They were pretty close to the Men of Letters chapter house, and he figured she had to be as nervous as him. They had every chance of running into Lucifer and Willow again and it scared Dean shitless.

“Fine.” Dean had decided to keep things on the lighter side when he asked for confessions. “Sometimes…” Why did he think this was a good idea? “Sometimes…I like country music.”

“No!” She clutched a hand to her chest. “That’s as bad a Nickelback.”

“Fuck you,” he said wagging a finger toward her. “And no. But almost. I turn it on why I’m riding by myself. Sometimes the older stuff like Willie Nelson and David Allen Coe. Sometimes…” he blushed as he spoke. “Carrie Underwood.”

“Wow,” she said at last. “You actually made a confession.”

“You’re turn.” He gave her a demanding look. “And remember we agreed what’s said in Baby stays in Baby.”

“Shut up, Shania,” Faith teased before growing more serious. “Hell, I dunno.” She was quiet a bit. “Fine. My mom wasn’t one of those motherly types that sat you down and explained the facts of life. So when change came a comin’…” Damn him. “I called 911. I was home alone and thought I was dying.”

If she’d expected a laugh, she would be disappointed. That story was kinda…nope. She’d get mad if he gave her pity. “That doesn’t count,” he scoffed. “Of course you would. If blood starting coming out my dick, I’d call 911, too.”

“Seriously?” She shuffled uncomfortably. “You’re not just trying to be stupid and nice?”

He was, but not like he’d tell her if she didn’t figure it out. “Baby, if blood starts coming from my dick, I want you to call for help. Now give me a good one. Something funny.”

She sat back in the seat and stared out the windshield for a minute. “Okay. So I met this guy at a bar.”

His gut twisted. He didn’t judge her for being a woman who wasn’t afraid of her sexuality, but he could only take so many tales of Faith fucking. “Peachy.”

“Shut up, Ducky,” she snickered. “You’ll like this one.” She turned to brace her back against the door and cross her legs in the seat. “So, met guy, yadda yadda, we end up at his place. He takes me to the bedroom and the clothes come off.” She paused when he threw her a look of disgust. “Seriously! Let me finish. The dude starts getting all handsy and kissy. I figure he’s heading downtown so I’m all fine and dandy, but then he keeps going and all of a sudden he licks my foot.”

His brows perked up. “You got a foot fetish?”

She shook her head and giggled. “The opposite. Fucking tickled so bad I jerked my leg and knocked out one of his teeth.”

“No way!” He barked a laugh.

“Needless to say, night was over. But I learned something about myself that night.”

“So, little Miss Fay has ticklish toes.” He reached out to snatch her shoe and give it a wiggle.

“Watch it,” she joked. “I just told you what happened to the last guy who touched my feet.”

He smirked. “Well, I’m into a few things, but licking feet ain’t one.”

“Like what?” she asked. “It’s your turn anyway, so go ahead. I know about the naughty nurse. You got more?”

He could blow it off, but he had started the whole confession game. He shrugged. “Fine. Yeah. I uhh…kinda like a little role play in the bedroom.”

“Whatcha done?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “Maybe a little dirty talk with a stripper here and there. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy’ kinda thing.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Because I can be a naughty boy.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “But you’re talking more, right? Like a sexy nurse or French maid costume. You wanna get into character, huh?”

“If you’re mocking me I will totally tickle you in your sleep.”

“I’ll hurt you and I’m not.” She braced her elbows on her knees. “Are they normal fantasies or weird ones? Like, are you a furry?”

“No!” He paused. “Well, I dunno…I kinda like anime.”

“You watch Sailor Moon?”

“You watch Sailor Moon?” he asked hopefully.

“No. Only nerds watched that. I just overheard enough to make fun of them like the bully I am.”

“Well…I don’t watch Sailor Moon. Per-say.”

She arched a brow. “What? You watch anime porn?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

“Holy fucky, Ducky! You _do_!” She burst out laughing.

“Shut up!” he snapped.

“You’re the sexiest geek ever!” Faith cackled.

“Well, I’m the best you’ve ever had, so what’s that say about you?”

“Gimme a minute,” she said through her giggles. “It’s like learning James Bond plays Pokémon.”

Dean wanted to shoot himself. Who sat and told the girl they liked shit like watching anime porn? No wonder he stuck to random hookups. He shut up and focused on the road. This is why he didn’t talk about himself. Stupid motherfucker.

The car grew quiet as Faith’s amusement decreased in volume. He couldn’t stand to look at her at the moment. He felt like a goddamn fool and he didn’t need her snarky looks to rub it in.

“I’ve always kinda had a fantasy.”

Dean was pretty sure this was the start of a joke. He wasn’t in the mood.

“It started as soon as I was old enough to start…well, getting horny enough to masturbate. I dunno why, but it was always the same. Alone in my bed, asleep. I wouldn’t wake up until it was too late and the fire had spread to my room.” She paused. “The firefighter would burst through the window and grab me just before the flames touched me, pulling me from the flames. Holding me in his arms.” Her breath hitched slightly. “Rescuing me.”

Tentatively he snuck a peek at her and found her cheeks were flaming red, her gaze focused on the hands in her lap. “Laugh it up, jackass,” she muttered. “Faith has a white knight kink.”

He swallowed hard, searching for the right words. Instead of taking his moment of vulnerability and kicking it aside, she’d actually offered him one of her own. It may not seem like much to a normal person, but he and Faith weren’t normal. He knew her confession was in solidarity to his own. And to him, that meant a lot.

“So…you want the full outfit or just the hat?”

She looked up at him. “What?”

“I’m not committing arson, but I got an ax. I can break down the bathroom door in some motel room.”

“Are you fucking mocking me?”

“No,” he said in all seriousness. “Just figuring out how we’re gonna play this. Would candles help? What if I get some of those rubber pants with the overalls? Yellow?”

She studied his face for a moment before a grin cracked across her face. “Ducky, you’re fucking crazy.”

“I’m sure they gotta sell this shit on Amazon, right? Otherwise we just rob a fire station on our way out of town.” He pulled up to their destination. “Or?” He looked up at the building. “Maybe after we search the place we do commit some arson. I’m game if you are.”

She lunged across the seat to give him a brief but passionate kiss. She pulled back and then went in to give him one last peck on the lips. “Come on, my geeky ducky.”


	40. Chapter 40

Buffy didn’t get creeped out anymore. Well, much. This place creeped her out. Mostly because she had no idea what she’d see when they crossed the threshold. There was every chance that she was about to encounter the devil for the first time, and even with all of her considerable experience at her disposal, this was one introduction she felt she could never have truly prepared for.

“You feeling anything?” she asked, tossing Spike a glance as they approached the door. While she’d been a vampire for going on a decade now, she felt inclined to defer to his experience when facing an unknown. Her slayer instincts and vampire instincts sometimes had a way of canceling each other out, or overriding the other so the result was difficult to read.

“Smells empty,” Spike replied. “Not sure how much I trust that, given those wankers who abducted you and Zangy few months back.”

That was true. She and Zack had been hijacked by demons who were virtually undetectable. And since Lucifer was apparently a senior partner at Wolfram and Hart, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he’d use the same henchmen.

“Fangs out, love.” Spike seized her hand, his voice deeper, as it always grew when he vamped. “Be ready for anythin’, yeah?”

“Okay.” She also had a stake on her. Old habit and all. It might not reduce everything it came into contact with to dust, but she had enough muscle to put the hurt on just about anything with a well-aimed throw.

The second they were within range of the door, though, all of her instincts—slayer and vamp alike—went on high alert. She looked to Spike again, whose expression confirmed he saw what she saw. The door was ajar, and the area within pulsed with magic—not so much that it overwhelmed, but the small opening the door left enabled her to sense it. Whatever it was had been confined within the compound’s walls.

Buffy edged forward, her fangs sliding into place. With that came the heightened senses of her vampiric eyesight, as well as a tingle of awareness that hadn’t been there before. She ran her thumb over the ring on her finger to reassure herself it was there, then slipped inside.

The air was practically electric. Her skin buzzed, the hair on her arms standing at attention. And even though she didn’t need to breathe anymore, she felt her lungs constrict on instinct. The floor seemed to shift under each step, like she could see the molecules of air curling around her feet and responding. Had she been a human, this would have made her dizzy—since she wasn’t, the most it did was put her on alert.

Also thick in the air was a scent she knew very well.

“Willow?”

“Buffy!”

Something in her chest lightened. Her friend definitely didn’t sound like a witch on the verge. “Willow, wanna cool it with the Prince music video? It stinks in here.”

And suddenly, Buffy couldn’t move. Like at all. Her feet were planted to the floor, her arms locked, her hand still curled around her stake. The only parts of her that had any autonomy were her eyes and mouth. And the creeped-out sensation she’d experienced outside abruptly exploded into all-out fear.

“Spike?” she said, her voice higher than normal.

“Here, love.”

“Can you move?”

“Not a lick.”

Buffy focused on the dark ahead of her. “Will, can you can-it with the freeze-frame while you’re at it? We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

The voice that answered was not her friend’s.

“Aww, shucks.” Something moved in the dark, and then she saw two orange pinpoints of light at eye-level. Pinpoints attached to a face that matched the one Sam and Dean had described as Lucifer’s old meat-suit, which, gross but apt descriptor. “I was so hoping for the other one. But you… Aren’t you a little peach? I’m tickled—_tickled, _I tell you—to finally meet the famous Bunny the Vampire Slayer in person.”

A warning growl issued through Spike’s throat. The devil didn’t take his eyes off her, just gave her a resigned smile—the same Spike often gave her when he was entertaining something he found ridiculous.

“Much ado about vampires with souls,” Lucifer continued, dragging his gaze up and down her body in a way that made her crave a shower. “Lot of noise from both ends. But after a while, it gets a little boring.”

“Michael—”

“Quiet,” Lucifer said. “It’s not polite to interrupt…”

_Michael? _Buffy tore her gaze from the devil’s and looked over his shoulder. “Willow, whatever he’s told you, he’s lying.”

“Well, that’s nice and original,” Lucifer drawled. Then, rolling his eyes, shouted, “Looks like Dean’s worked his mojo over your friends, too. That boy is a menace. Though we were hoping to head him off here—figured Roswell would be a natural pick for him. So if _you’re _here, I’m going to guess that Dean and the Fantastic Miss Faith—how’s she doing, by the way?”

Buffy kept her mouth shut.

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I know she’s alive.” Lucifer clasped his hands to his chest and barked a laugh. “Thank _Dad_, right? That would have been embarrassing. But Faith is important to us. More important than, oh say, you. Also, if I’m being honest, I just like her more. She has something you just don’t.”

“Michael, Buffy could help—”

Lucifer raised his hand. “I believe I said to be _quiet_.”

A hard _clack _rang through the air, and though Buffy couldn’t see Willow, she knew what had happened. The devil had snapped her mouth shut.

“See what kinda company you’re keepin’, Red?” Spike yelled. “This wanker’s—”

“And this must be William,” Lucifer said, at last turning to look at Spike. “The vampire _without _a soul, playacting like he has one anyway. My, my, what _happened _to you, man? Just look at you. Housebroken and pussy-whipped. All that raw potential just…wasted. It’s sad.” He turned back to Buffy. “What do you say, Bunny, should I put him out of his misery?”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, and though her heart hadn’t jumped in years, she would have sworn she felt it take a dive. “You touch him and I’ll make you bleed.”

Lucifer favored her with a lazy grin. “See, _that _is the fire I’m looking for, William. I can kinda understand what you see in her.” He lifted a hand and looked again to Spike. “Can you even handle that kind of fire anymore? I think we should find out.” He paused, flicked his gaze over his shoulder, then added, “You know, in the name of God. You evil thing, you.”

_The ring. Spike has the ring. Lucifer doesn’t know that._

But even still, Buffy had never been more terrified in her life. She was aware of herself in ways she never had been before—the hands she couldn’t move. The legs that refused to budge. The drop in her stomach and the bone-crushing fear lining through a body that couldn’t respond. Because if there was any force on this world that could bypass the magic of the rings, she was looking at it.

“Love you, Buffy. No matter what happ—”

Lucifer snapped his fingers, the sound of a small explosion filled the quiet, and the room was suddenly ablaze, and Spike screamed, and Buffy could do nothing but stand there. An awful pressure at her chest, tears stinging her eyes and every molecule of her body shrieked. In the light, she could see Willow now—Willow’s horror-stricken face yards behind the devil, the fire reflecting in her eyes. Spike engulfed, screaming, flames licking up and down his arms and in his hair and _oh god, _she was going to have to watch. She was going to have to watch the devil kill the man she loved.

Then Willow turned her gaze on Lucifer and raised her hands, and a mess of light burst from her palms and crashed into the asshole with such force he went flying into the wall at his right. At once, Buffy could move again. In seconds, she was at Spike’s side, screaming and crying over him, her hands mapping the charred, scorched lines of his arms, cupping his face, demanding that he answer her. That he tell her he was okay. That he not fucking die here, dammit.

It was only seconds, she knew, but it felt like centuries before he opened his eyes. “All good, love,” he said, then coughed. “Think the bloody ring took the brunt of it.”

Yeah, it probably had. Fire like that on most vamps would have rendered them to ash. Still, the fact that his skin was burnt and his hair was singed made Buffy aware of his mortality in ways she hadn’t since England. Since Glory had snagged him and tortured the stuffing out of him, first believing he was the Key then believing he knew where the Key was. Of everything the ring had done, including giving her back the sun, its greatest gift was the relief of knowing that the fear she’d felt that day would never again be necessary, because Spike had become unkillable.

“Don’t do that to me,” Buffy said, then took his mouth in a hard kiss. “Never, ever do that to me again.”

“Same goes, Slayer,” Spike replied, and flashed her a grin. And it was the grin more than anything that assured the beast in her chest that he was all right.

And once that fear was put to bed, all that was left was instinct. The instinct of the demon that lived under her skin—the one that had believed for a few awful seconds that her mate was about to burn alive. Buffy snarled and whipped back to the lump that was Lucifer, who moaned and sizzled from where he’d collided with the wall. Willow was there, too, looking stricken and hovering over him like a concerned mother.

A roar tore through Buffy’s throat, and the next thing she knew, she was moving, feet pounding against the floor. Willow turned just in time to flash her a startled look, then Buffy launched herself at the devil, buried her fangs into his throat and tore.

“Buffy!” Spike screamed from somewhere behind her. “Buffy, no!”

“Buffy, no!” Willow echoed, though in shock rather than fear. “He’s an angel. _An angel. _You can’t!”

For his part, Lucifer released a pitiful whimper, weakly shoving at Buffy but lacking the strength to do more than piss her off. Whatever Willow had hit him with had zapped him but good, which was the only reason Buffy had aimed her fangs at him and not her once bestie. So maybe she could end this here, now. Why the hell not? His blood tasted putrid and his skin smelled something like decay but not—he wasn’t dead but he wasn’t alive either, and everything was wrong.

“Buffy!”

Then she was flying through the air again, only in reverse, Lucifer and Willow zooming away from her at a speed she wouldn’t have believed before her back smashed into the wall on the other side of the room. The force of the impact had her fangs piercing her tongue, and the taste of her own blood filled her mouth. And though she could tell that she’d feel the force of the hit soon, at the moment, she was too jazzed on adrenaline and pure hate to slow down. Buffy leaped her way back to her feet in an instant and spat out a mouthful of blood.

She would have started running again to finish the job, but the space on the floor where her blood had landed glowed back at her, burning a bright vivid orange that hurt her eyes.

Across the room, Willow gasped. “Orange,” she whispered. “It turned orange.”

Lucifer still seemed a bit on the groggy side, but he was climbing to his feet, his eyes glowing as they had when he’d first stepped out of the shadows. Buffy was caught in an odd place between absolute dread and relief. Dread that the devil was up again, but relief—pure, unadulterated relief—at the fatigue on his face and the way he grasped at his neck. That he was stumbling around meant he could feel real pain.

Which meant he could be killed.

Buffy grinned. All she needed to do was get her fangs into his throat and finish the job.

This must have been all over her face, for Willow fitted Lucifer’s arm over her shoulder, her eyes wide and stricken.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” she yelled across the spans of the dark bunker. “I’ll explain everything later. I promise.”

_Oh no. No, no, no, no._

Buffy broke into a hard run, but knew it was too late. Willow was turning on the spot, as she’d seen her do so many times, and then there was a loud _crack _and devil and witch disappeared.

*~*~*

Willow was shaking too hard to maintain her balance. The second her feet touched the ground of her room, she wavered under Michael’s weight and stumbled toward the desk pressed against the wall, panting hard. Her mind was racing and her pulse pounded, and everything was confused and wrong.

Buffy’s blood had turned orange on the floor. Orange. The spell she’d cast there shouldn’t have affected her at all—meant solely to locate the ingredients needed to seal the Hellmouth for good. And it made sense that the last ingredient should be the blood of the Slayer—it had closed it before and would again. Michael had been certain that Dean and Faith would hit the bunker in Roswell and that this would be their chance to rescue Faith from Dean’s influence, get her on the side of good.

Instead, it had been Buffy. _Buffy_. And Spike. And Willow did not understand a damn thing she’d seen.

Buffy’s blood had glowed orange. Slayer blood was supposed to glow gold. Orange was similar to gold, but not quite the same. But did that mean something?

“You,” Michael said softly from where he was crouched beside the bed, one hand at the gaping hole Buffy had torn open at his neck. “You clumsy, idiotic girl. You _attacked_ me.”

“You _attacked _my friends,” Willow shot back, her heart thundering. “Buffy is not evil. And Spike… Well, Spike’s evil-lite. And he’s _mated _to Buffy.”

“Buffy isn’t evil?” Michael laughed, climbing to his feet. He gestured at his throat. “Does she know that?”

“You had attacked her mate! You know vampires and mates—it’s all grr and instinct. And why the hell did you attack Spike?”

Michael blinked at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I see a soulless vampire and I think _evil_. The fact that they were there at all means that Dean’s gotten his hooks into them. How was I supposed to know there were acceptable degrees of soullessness?”

That didn’t sound right. The things Michael had said to Spike before he’d lit him on fire had been more familiar than a guy meeting the vampire for the first time. But dammit, she couldn’t think of any other explanation. Michael had been on the money about everything else. And she had seen the demon mark on Dean’s chest with her own two eyes.

Just how powerful was this Dean guy?

“I don’t know what you kids have been telling yourselves about vampires, but there is no such thing as _evil-lite. _Even if _Spike _thinks there is, he’s a puppet waiting for someone like Dean to come along and pull the strings,” Michael said a moment later, his tone a deceptive type of calm that both reassured her and made her nervous. Because it sounded like he was back in control, only Willow would be the first to admit that Michael _in control _could be kind of wiggy. “Soulless demons can be convinced of about anything. They are inherently selfish creatures—all you have to do is sell them the right lie, which is something Dean Winchester excels at. And if Spike is indeed _mated _to his pet slayer, then he has a measure of control over her, too. Don’t you know _anything_?”

Willow just gaped at him, at a loss for words.

“I’ll take that as a no. Here’s an easier question: is Spike the one that made Buffy?”

Well, that story was a little complicated, but in terms of whose blood did the reanimation? “Yes.”

Michael nodded. “Well, there you go. Never, _ever _underestimate the ties that bind sires to the fledglings they make. Angels can see it, you know. That sort of ingrained blood magic. It was obvious to me the second she walked in tonight.”

“It was?” Willow had never heard of such a thing.

“Yes. And I needed to see how deep the corruption ran. That Spike is both her sire and her mate makes her especially susceptible. And strong.” Michael raised his head and fixed her with a blank stare. “If you had allowed me to end his life, we might have been able to use her.”

This was more information than Willow could handle—too large to be picked apart, yet terrifying in how much sense it made. Because no other vampire had ever behaved the way Spike did. Not one. And if soulless creatures _could _be convinced of just about anything, then it was possible Spike had allowed himself to become convinced that he’d changed, so he was blind to his own weaknesses. And yeah, if that was true, it was bad on levels that she’d never considered.

“What do we do?” Willow asked hoarsely.

Michael huffed. “We? My dear, _we _do nothing. Dean and Faith were not in Roswell…” He straightened and waved a hand over the area on his throat. A flash of white and he was whole again. “Guessing little Dean wanted to stay close to home base. Which means I’m St. Louis bound.”

Willow hurried forward, her eyes wide. “I can help. I—”

“Stop.” Michael held up a hand. “You just nearly allowed your friend to kill _me_. This is after you almost sent Faith back to dear old Dad. You’re back in timeout. And Missy, I want you to think about what you’ve done.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… These are my friends. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Well, throwing Faith through a bus wasn’t the best way to convey that. And we have big plans for her.” Michael offered a smile that she thought might have been his version of comforting, but it looked more like a wince.

“You need me to do the spell,” Willow said, thinking again of Buffy’s orange, glowing blood. And wondering. “What point is there in going to St. Louis if you can’t find the blood?”

Michael hesitated at that, a shadow falling over his face. A beat passed, then another, then he sighed and inclined his head. “All right. When you’re right, you’re right. Just try to avoid tossing Faith around like a ragdoll. Dean, on the other hand… Well, little witch, get as creative as you like.”

Willow wasn’t about to spill blood if she could help it, but then she thought of Spike. Of Buffy, who was attached to him. Of the ever-growing list of casualties. And she wondered.

But could she live with herself if she killed again?

Willow released a deep breath and nodded as the angel neared. With any luck, she’d never have to find out.

*~*~*

So far, this place was nothing but dust.

Faith wasn’t sure where one would keep something like a vial of dead slayer blood from more than a century ago. She’d done many a freaky thing in her time, but keeping around spare body fluids hadn’t made the list.

The St. Louis bunker was thankfully not as large as the one in Lebanon—probably because it’d be harder to keep on the DL here, whereas Lebanon had three people and two of them didn’t count. Still, she could easily picture Nick or Giles geeking their merry little hearts out over this place. And hell, there were probably books somewhere that hadn’t seen the light of day in ages.

But so far, nothing practical. Well, beyond the weapon’s room, which had more goodies to load up in the car. These Men of Letters asshats needed to learn to take better care of their toys.

“Anything, Ducky?” she called, then winced as the echo shouted back at her.

“This place is a bit of a letdown,” Dean replied, coming into view, shouldering a double-barrel shotgun and some live rounds. “Though I don’t mind the spare guns.”

“You gonna leave me any toys?”

He smirked at her. “Didn’t know you were the kinda girl who needed toys.”

“Well, you never know when someone’s gonna leave you to _entertain _yourself.”

“Pretty sure as your Number One, I’ve kept you plenty entertained.”

Fuck. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”

“What do you think, Miss Kitty?”

“That you’re askin’ me to bust your ass in the not-so-fun-for-you way. Also?” She made a face and gestured to the space around them. “That we spent seven goddamn hours in the car for no fucking reason.”

“Hey, we’re leavin’ with more guns and axes than we had before. So we can still torch the place and let you live up your fireman fantasy.”

This was one of those moments where she couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or just genuinely fucking with her. It was such a fine line with Dean. But at the same time, something told her that if she asked him to hose her down, he wouldn’t hesitate.

“Is this really what passes for foreplay with him?”

Faith froze. She knew that voice. And from the stricken look on Dean’s face, she wasn’t imagining anything.

“Seriously,” the devil continued, and though she was fairly certain he hadn’t cast the freeze-frame thing on her again, she somehow couldn’t move as he brushed her hair over her shoulder. “A woman like you could do so, so much better. My sweet, sweet angel.”

That was it. Faith looked to Dean, caught the panic in his eyes—the near imperceptible shake of his head—but ignored it. She whirled around, fist raised, ready to smack the handsy motherfucker to the next fucking dimension or die trying. No one touched her without her permission. Not even the goddamned devil.

But he was too quick for her, of course. He caught her fist with ease and gave her a patient smile, like he was humoring her, and brought her hand to his lips. “You’re even lovelier than I remembered.”

Faith jerked away and, on instinct, kicked back. This time she was successful, the sole of her boot connecting with the devil’s midsection. He wheezed and doubled over, and behind him she saw Willow, her eyes wide but determined.

“Faith!” Dean was at her side the next instant, hands around her shoulders.

“Oh, Dean,” the devil coughed, still doubled over but there was laughter in his voice, “she is so, so, so out of your league.” He raised himself slowly, that twisted smile still on his face. “Allow me to demonstrate just _how much_.”


	41. Chapter 41

Zack slammed the car door so hard, he’d half-expected to crack the window. Fuck if he cared about a rental. He’d paid for the insurance.

“Zack!” He heard Cordelia calling across the lot for him, but he was already in trouble with her and really done listening until the two Xanax she’d popped on the plane had fully worn off.

When he reached the door to the cantina, he didn’t slow down, throwing his weight against it so that it banged against the wall. He was hoping this would draw his girl’s attention, but as he had feared from the drive from the bunker, his daughter wasn’t safely inside the sanctuary bar.

“Zack!”

He looked up to see Nick scurrying from behind the bar. He had a line of customers, but he ignored their shouts and protests as he nearly sprinted to him.

“Where’s Rosalie?” Wright growled.

He’d expected a variety of reactions from the boy—fear, shock, possibly annoyance—but not for him launch himself forward and wrap him in a hug. That one kinda freaked him out. That fear turned to something else as he felt something cold and sharp press against his forearm.

“The fuck?” Wright snapped, jerking back to see Hunter holding a small knife in his hand.

“Sorry,” Nick said sheepishly, flipping the blade down to close the knife before slipping it in his back pocket. “Silver. Needed to make sure you weren’t a shifter.”

Damn. That was actually a good idea. He’d maybe tell him he was impressed after he killed him and found his daughter. “Where is she? You let her patrol? With _Anya_?”

“_Let_?” Nick scoffed. “Bloody hell, we had a right fight about it.” He paused. “Have you met your girl?”

Zack sighed. Yeah. Nobody forced his daughter to do anything she didn’t want to and nobody stopped her if she set her mind to it. He’d lived his fatherhood torn between pride and utter frustration. “I didn’t keep Nikki around for shits and giggles.”

Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. With a few clicks, he handed it over. “Rose doesn’t know, but I installed GPS when we bought new cells. She’s already pissed at me so I really don’t care anymore.” He reached over and zoomed it in. “I use it mornings when she and Sam go for a jog and then when I can’t be with her on patrols.”

Most fathers might be a little upset to know their daughter’s boyfriend was creeping around with a tracker. “Fuck, I’ve missed having one of these on her for two months.” He looked up with a smirk. “Yeah, I knew she was ditching school, but I hadn’t realized she’d dropped the fuck out.”

“Sorry again, mate,” Nick muttered.

“Borrowing this,” Zack said,wiggling the phone. “Fifty-fifty on me giving it back.”

“Oh, Nick!” Cordy said,stumbling up to hug the kid. “I love you!”

“What the…” Nick looked up at Zack with confused trepidation.

“She’s high on Xanax and—”

“Ohh, wine!” she giggled before releasing Nick and stumbling toward the bar.

“Yeah, that. Watch her,” Zack warned as he turned to leave.

“I won’t let anyone mess with her.”

Zack turned back and flashed a smirk. “I ain’t worried about her. It’s everyone else. Plus, she likes karaoke when she gets messed up. She sings like shit.” With that, he turned and walked out.

Once outside, he got his gun and knife from the car and began his hunt.

He actually hadn’t gotten the drop on Rosalie since she’dbeen called up to the slayer league. First time he’d been busted when a vamp caught him off guard and his girl had to save him from fangs to the throat. The second time he’d been close, but had caught an untimely sneeze from inhaling a lung-full of vamp dust. The third time, Faith had fucking ratted him out by spotting him behind a headstone and breaking down into hysterics.

Looking at the phone, he saw she was up ahead. There was a little bit of distance between the local cemetery and the bar and Zack figured there must be pretty good demon traffic. He kept his eyes and ears focused as he stalked his way through the weeds and brush.

After a good ten minutes of walking—and one knifed werewolf who’d picked the wrong guy to ask for directions—he found her.

“Good job!” Anya chirped. “You slay very well for a juvenile.”

“I’m eighteen,” Rosalie corrected in annoyance.

“To me that is still very juvenile. Human life gets better once you can legally procure alcohol.”

“I forgot you talk funny,” Rosalie said casually. “Or maybe I assumed you would have assimilated better from demonhood.”

“I’ve assimilated quite well,” Anya said defensively.

“Yes, I suppose you have. Sorry, I’ve been cranky lately.”

Zack couldn’t see, but heard the telltale sign of a hungry vampire. Before he could react, he caughta grunt andthe sound of it exploding to dust. “Good job!” Anya once again happily exclaimed.

Rosalie giggled. “I always liked you.”

“I always liked you, too. You weren’t annoying like other children. You were always perceptive and quiet. Probably because you were a Seer.” She paused. “And witnessed the death of your mother and brother. I would assume that would be very traumatic on a human child.” Another beat. “I can assume this from my assimilation.”

“Cool?” Rosalie seemed at a loss for words.

Zack used the opportunity to charge forward and leap, crashing into his daughter and pulling her to the ground. She fought and kicked like a warrior until she managed to turn her body face up, ready to stake the man straddling her hips and grasping her wrists.

“Dad?” The tension in her muscles melted away and she looked up at him with those hopeful eyes that hadgreeted him every time he’d returned from one of his hunts or searches for Darla over the years.

“Hiya, Rosie!” He gave her the same beaming grin he always had when he’d seen her running toward him for a hug and kiss.

“What?” She looked around in confusion. “How?”

“You should check me out before you hug me,” he admonished as he rolled off her and stood. “Nick used the silver test, but he should have gone for holy water, too.” Zack stuck out a hand to help her up.

“I don’t need a test to know you’re you,” she quipped. “One, you totally have human strength. Two, you smell like my dad. Three, you sound like my dad. Four, only my dad would look so excited to finally catch me.” She gave him a smile. “Need I go on?”

Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her up in a bear hug, spinning her in a circle before sitting her down. “You’re right. I am glad to finally get the drop on you. Almost takes away how fucking pissed I am right now.”

Anya cleared her throat. “You two have a strange relationship.”

Zack and Rosalie didn’t comment. “Dad, I’m an adult. I can patrol—”

“No you can’t. It hasn’t been a year. I don’t fucking care if you’re thirty. Rules are you patrol with a watcher, slayer or hunter. End of the fucking story.” He shook his head. “And especially when the fucking _devil_ is in town.”

“I can—”

“_No_,” he growled. “This isn’t a pissing match, Rosie. It’s the fucking facts. If you want to be an adult, fucking act like one. You need backup, not…” He gave a bemused look to Anya. “A cheerleader.”

“Xander likes it when I cheer.” Anya pouted.

“Yeah, well you can go and cheer him right up.” He gave his daughter a sheepish smile. “I may have given him a fist-bump to the face.”

“Dad,” Rosalie chastised, unable to keep a small smile from tugging her lips.

“He’s such a tool.” Zack rolled his eyes.

Rosalie slumped her shoulders in defeat. “So I guess you’re gonna ground me now? Send me to my room or something lame and dad-like?”

Zack looked around. “You done? I figured the work was just getting started.”

Her eyes lit up. “You wanna patrol with me?”

“Sweetie, I haven’t patrolled with you in a year. Fuck yeah. Let’s kill some shit, girl.”

*~*~*

Dean was going to die.

Part of him had always wanted it to go down like this. A car crash or a heart attack or even a bullet just didn’t seem right for his swan song. No, when the reaper Billie had told him he was out of second chances, he’d vowed to himself that he’d go down in a blaze of glory.

But not today. Not now. Not when he was enjoying waking up in the morning for the first time in forever. Not when Faith was in danger.

Dean expected the blast of energy that slammed into his body, tensing his muscles as he crashed up against the wall. He hadn’t expected Faith to turn and look back at him with warm concern in her eyes. At least he’d die with that little bit of knowledge. She’d liked him, too.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Faith snarled as she aimed her venom at the devil.

“Honey, I’m doing you a favor,” Lucifer drawled. “You think Daddy brought you back just to be Dean Winchester’s come catcher? Sleeping with a Winchester never has with a happy ending.” He looked over to Dean and sneered. “How _is_ Sam, by the way?”

“Fuck you,” Dean hissed as he struggled to get up.

“Hush now,” Lucifer scolded, flicking his wrists and sending Dean up into the air before crashing him back against the wall. “The grownups are talking right now. Your time of importance expired years ago.”

Faith ran forward to attack once again, but Lucifer stopped her in her tracks. “I _love_ how you can’t keep your hands off me, sweetie. Trust me, I can’t wait to get a taste of that hot, little body.” He walked over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Believe me when I say you’ll definitely have a new _number one_.”

“Michael,” Willow called out. “The spell.”

“Do it.” Lucifer nodded, keeping his gaze solely focused on Faith.

Spell. Dean’s senses came to him at that. Slowly rolling over to face the wall, he saw a splinted board and knew what he had to do. Taking a steadying breath, he jabbed his palm against the broken shard of wood and ripped the flesh from his palm. Tears filled his eyes as pain tore through him and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He couldn’t draw attention to himself.

“Willow!” Faith at least had the ability to speak. “Willow, listen to me. This guy you’re with is the bad guy. Don’t believe me? Just go find B and she’ll set you straight.”

“Yeah, we had a _chat_ with Bunny,” Lucifer said dryly. “It was about as fun as a dumpster fire.”

“It’s ready,” Willow said.

“Excellent,” Lucifer said in a bad impression of Mr. Burns. “Let’s find us some blood and take care of that Hellmouth once and for all.”

Faith barked a laugh. “You’re out of luck, you evil son of a bitch. We already cased the joint and there’s no sign of Cassandra.”

“Cassandra?” Lucifer sounded genuinely confused. “You mean that girl who closed it back in the day? Why would we want her blood?” He paused. “Why in the hell would she have left some vial of her blood lying around? That’s dumb.”

“The ingredient.” Faith sounded hesitant now. Like Lucifer was starting to get to her. Dean worked faster as he smeared blood on the wall.

Lucifer smiled. “You talked to Crowley!” He laughed heartily. “That’s funny!” He raised his voice and Dean assumed directed his words to Willow. “King of Hell, isn’t that right, angel? Naughty girl.”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Faith shouted. Dean felt rage and adrenaline running through his veins so fast he grew dizzy. He couldn’t turn around and react.

“It’s okay,” Lucifer chastised. “No bad touches from me. Well, except this one. Just a little prick, but I’m sure you’re used to those.”

“W-What are you—” Faith cut off with a cry. “Ow! What are…what is that?”

“The golden ticket, momma.” Lucifer chuckled. “See, I might have let Crowley get some bad information. Said that the blood was hidden in one of these stupid Men of Letters houses. Which was true. Just not totally accurate. The spell calls for the blood of the one which closed it before. But it wasn’t a who, but a what.”

“Oh my god,” Faith said in horror. Dean had the same realization as well. All too late.

“Slayer!” Lucifer sang out joyously. “Now you see why I’m so tickled Daddy sent you back. You and me are literally a match made in Heaven.”

Dean finished and rolled over, keeping his bloody appendage hidden behind him. He saw virtually the same scene as before, but now there were drops of gold glowing on the floor between Lucifer and Faith’s feet.

“It’s okay,” Lucifer said in a disgustingly soft and sweet voice, his hand coming up to lightly brush her cheek in some mockery of concern. “It’s all good.” His hand began to trail from her face to her shoulder and down her arm.

When Dean saw the devil take his evil fingers and slip them around her waist and toward her ass, his patience snapped. He’d be dead before he let him grope his baby. “Hey!” Dean roared. “_Hands off, motherfucker_!” With that he turned and slammed his palm against the sigil on the wall.

Dean closed his eyes but saw the bright light and felt the swoosh of air flow past him toward the dirty angel. Willow could attack and kill him, but it was too late. Lucifer was gone. Faith was safe for the second.

“What did you do?” Willow screamed when the light ceased to glow.

Dean rolled over and gave her a bloody cold smile, raising his dripping, mangled palm in a patronizing wave. “Magic, bitch.”

Faith jumped into the line of fire, placing herself squarely between Dean and the witch. “Blast me again, Red, but if you hurt him I will kill you. I swear to Chuck Almighty I’ll take my ticket to hell for murder.”

“Faith,” Willow pleaded. “Come with me and save yourself. Dean’s the bad guy, not me. Come with me now and we can make things right before it’s too late.”

“Girl, you got your shit all wrong. Just like last time. Maybe the Brits should’ve put you down when they had the chance. Not sure why Harry Potter and friends wasted all those years just watching you and waiting for you to go all nuclear again.”

“What?” Willow said in a hollow voice.

“Why do you think Harry fucking Potter was on your personal detail, Will? Because you were a threat. _Are_ a threat.” She took a step forward. “Maybe that’s why I was brought back. To take you out.”

“Baby, no!” Dean called to her. He couldn’t watch another showdown. Not when they were so close to making it out of here alive.

With a crack, Willow disappeared and Dean slumped in relief. He closed his eyes and his muscles finally released the remaining adrenaline keeping him going.

“Ducky,” Faith nearly whimpered as she was on her knees and cradling his head in her hands. “What did you do?”

He fluttered open his eyes to look up at her with a lazy smile. “You ain’t the only one who can turn tricks.” He flopped his hand toward the wall. “Blood sigil. Draw that symbol and you can blast an angel halfway across the world. Doesn’t kill them, but it knocks them out and buys you time.”

She bent over him and gave him a hard, deep kiss. For a moment he forgot everything and brought his good hand up to grasp her neck and pull her tighter against his lips. He needed to feel her body. Needed to taste her tongue. Needed proof that she was real and that they really had danced with the devil and lived to tell the tale.

She pulled back and he saw red on her beautiful lips. “You’re bleeding,” she said as she wiped her mouth. “And blood doesn’t turn me on like that.”

Blood. Reality came like a bitch-slap. “Go wipe up your blood.”

She didn’t ask questions as she let him go and dashed toward the glowing droplets on the floor. Taking the hem of her shirt, she wiped until the floor didn’t shine a bit of magic. “Ducky, this was all a trap,” she said as she continued to rub.

“Yeah,” he groaned as he fought to his feet. “He mentioned Buffy so it means he went to Roswell first.”

“Dammit,” she hissed as she reached for her phone.

“Car,” he grunted, reaching for his keys. “We’ll call them once we get the fuck out of here. He’ll be back.”

“Right.” She nodded and came over to lend him a hand. He grasped her, smacking the keys into her palm. “Really? Why’s it always take something special for you to let me behind the wheel?”

“Shut up.” He couldn’t help but smile. “You can have her whenever you want, baby. Just get us the fuck out of here now.”

She wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him as he limped toward the door. “Really hit your noggin there, Ducky. Pretty sure you got a concussion.”

He was definitely brain-damaged, but he didn’t think it was from the wall.

*~*~*

“Slow the fuck down.”

Sam was having trouble understanding Dean. Not only was it difficult to not pick up Faith talking loudly in the background, but his brother was rattling so fast it was hard to comprehend the words. “You met up with Lucifer?”

“Yes!” Dean shouted in exasperation. “Fuck, dude. Listen to me!”

“I’m trying.” He was also trying to hold a phone in his hand, drive the truck down the highway and give Dawnie a look of assurance. “What did you mean when you said it was all a trap? Does he already have the blood?”

“There is no blood, Sammy. The whole thing was bullshit.”

Sam let off the gas. “Don’t tell me he’s opening it now.” They’d left the bunker essentially unprotected.

“No.” Sam sighed with relief before Dean elaborated. “He’s not looking for dead slayer blood. He’s looking for _fresh_.”

Sam hit the brakes and pulled over. “What?”

“Yeah. Faith’s got it. I’m sure Rosalie, too.” Dean paused and he could hear Faith in the background. “Faith’s got Buffy on the phone. He and Willow attacked them in Roswell. Buff says…” Dean again broke off to get information. “Fuck. Really?”

“Dean!” Sam snapped.

“Yeah. Sounds like Lucifer got Spike bad. Burned him up pretty rough.”

Sam shook his head. That didn’t make the sense. “What about the ring?”

“I don’t know,” Dean spat. “I guess it saved him from going full fireball.”

“And Buffy?”

“Sounds like her blood didn’t pass the test. That’s when they came and found us at the St. Louis house.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Got the drop with the old angel blast.” Dean sighed and Sam could hear the exhaustion in his brother’s voice. He was likely more hurt than he’d admit.

“Have you called Rosalie or Giles?”

“Dude, this happened like five minutes ago. I called you and Faith called B. You call them and I’ll call Cas.”

“Right,” Sam agreed.

“I caught something,” Dean said in a whisper. “I wanna talk to you about it first.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Back at the bunker. Just a theory, but I wanna opinion before I speak up.”

“Yeah. Okay.” The line went dead.

Barely checking for traffic, Sam slammed the gas and pulled a u-ey.

“Fuck!” Dawn cried out. He wasn’t sure if it was in response to the call or his driving. They both were accurate.


	42. Chapter 42

Willow didn’t understand any of what had just happened.

Like at all.

When she arrived back at the hotel, she expected to find Michael waiting for her with an explanation. Why Dean’s blood had sent him away, what that flash of light was, and why—again—everyone was wrong and he was right and Dean really was the bad guy. Faith threatening to kill her wasn’t too surprising, but the conviction—the fear—in her eyes had been. Willow remembered well what it had been to be regarded with fear and she didn’t care for it.

And what she’d said…

It was the sort of thing her mind initially rejected even if the rest of her knew it was the truth, because it made an odd kind of sense. And maybe that was why she hadn’t spent too much time thinking about Harry and the others since she’d restored her memories. Because she’d have to face some realities she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Like the fact that when Willow had lost her mind, Harry had been an Auror. Not only an Auror, but the one in charge of revolutionizing the department. That he wouldn’t have been on the scene with the rest of the Ministry of Magic defied logic. Her memory spell wouldn’t have worked on him, so he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny—they had all known. All this time. They’d known and they’d pretended not to.

Worse, they’d pretended to be her friends. Her family. They’d pretended to love her.

This was the sort of thought that, were Willow in a place to spiral, she’d fly right off the deep end. Because dammit, those relationships meant something to her—they’d been her anchor in a world that hadn’t made sense. They’d been her home away from Sunnydale, away from the world of slaying and vampires and apocalypses. And all this time they’d been watching her, waiting for her to tick off like a time bomb. She’d been a lengthy post-Hogwarts homework assignment.

But why had they remained in the US? They could have easily considered themselves rid of her the second she’d gotten the boot from the Ministry of Magic. Instead, they’d prolonged their holiday and kept away from their children to play house with her in Los Angeles. Or was that on orders from the Ministry, too?

Willow didn’t know, and she felt sick. She wanted to call Hermione and asked but feared the answer. So instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and waited for Michael to return.

Hopefully, he would know what to do.

*~*~*

Shit.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

Faith tossed Dean a look as he hung up on his brother, winced and cradled his bloodied hand. She knew she should be more focused on the road at the moment, but fuck, she didn’t think she’d ever been this freaked out. Not even in the second before she’d cold-clocked Rosalie and slid on her own death sentence. Then, she’d reached a somewhat elevated state of calm. She’d known what to do, what her part was. No, dying wouldn’t be fun, but it was _right_. It was how her story should end.

Except now…

Faith shook her head and forced herself to look back to the road, scenery blurring past them in a whirl of shapeless color. “Call Cas.”

“I’m about to.”

“He can heal you up real fast the way he did me, right?”

“Yeah, but he ain’t comin’ here.”

_The fuck_? “Not sayin’ the banged up look doesn’t do anything for you, Ducky, but I kinda prefer you with all your parts in order.”

“I’ll live. He needs to go to home. Watch over the kid. Keep her from spilling blood. That’ll be Lucifer’s next stop.” He fumbled with his phone best he could with one hand almost entirely out of commission. She’d ripped one of her tanks in half and wrapped it around the wound to staunch the bleeding, but it had already bled through and mocked her with its bright, unforgiving red.

“B said she hurt him.”

“Who?” Dean paused, finger above the contact button. “Cas? Spike? What are we talking about?”

“Lucifer,” Faith replied with a mental eye-roll. “Apparently, Willow went rogue in Roswell when Lucifer lit up Blondie. Threw something at him that nearly knocked him out.”

He huffed. “Seems they kissed and made up.”

“I know. I don’t get it.” And she didn’t. Willow was in control of herself enough to know that lighting up her bestie’s mate wouldn’t end well for her—but why the hell hadn’t the fact that he’d lit Spike up in the first place knocked some sense into her? “Anyway, turns out whatever she hit Lucie with kept him down. B damn near chewed through his throat.”

“Why the fuck did she stop?”

“One guess.”

Dean was quiet a moment, then groaned and slammed his head against the head rest. “Willow. Bitch is trying to play both sides.”

“I don’t think she knows who he is. She called him Michael. Unless that’s some special pet name I don’t know about.”

“Michael’s an archangel and, like most of ‘em, he’s a big dick. But he ain’t Lucifer.”

“So Lucifer’s told Will that he’s Michael. So she doesn’t know she’s workin’ with the devil.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t find that shit comforting.”

“Well, if he’s spun some yarn about how you’re the evil guy in all this, it at least makes sense as to why she didn’t fry my ass tonight.”

“Yeah, about that…”

Faith tensed. “Don’t fucking start.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Baby, I about had a heart attack when you stepped in front of her. You heard what Lucifer said.”

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to be paying attention to his mouth while he was grabbing my ass? And why the fuck would I put any goddamn stock into what Lucifer said? He’s the motherfucking devil.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, well, on that count he was right.”

“On what count?”

“That it’s been a long fucking time since my life has had any meaning. I am a lot of things, but worth dyin’ for ain’t one of them.”

That punched her right in the throat. Faith inhaled sharply and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, then remembered about the blood and sucked on it until it dried. She could do jack about the tears that flooded her eyes, though. But fuck, she felt it. Down to the bone. At once, she was in an alley, rain slamming onto her as she beat and begged Angel to end her life. How much she’d wanted it—how like _that _she’d felt. And more so—not just that the world wouldn’t miss her, but that it’d be better off if she wasn’t in it.

Angel had refused to kill her. He’d saved her instead. And she’d resented the fuck out of him for it at times, but other times…

“I felt like that once,” she said, somewhat hoarse. “Angel… Buffy’s ex and current soulless douchebag… I went to Los Angeles so he’d kill me. Took out a contract on him from Wolfram and Hart, kidnapped Wes and tortured the shit out of him…all so Angel would kill me when he came after me. Damn asshole was stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, I am honestly to the point where I don’t remember _not _feeling like this. So get it through your fucking head that I am _not _worth risking your life over,” Dean said in that same low tone, bringing his phone up again. It had locked and he was trying to balance it with minimal success. “Next time, get yourself out.”

This pissed her off, which she welcomed. Yes, _anger _was good. Better than the hollow, broken place she’d just been. Though it made her wonder why was it every fucking time he let her get behind the wheel of his precious car he said something that made her want to tear the steering wheel right off the dash.

“So you can throw a fucking temper tantrum when I talk about sacrificing myself to save the fucking world, but you can die for no good reason and I'm supposed to just go with it,” she spat. “That ain’t gonna fly with me, Ducky. Try again.”

Dean dropped the phone again and glared at her. “You're the fucking Slayer. Yeah, I can get pissed watching you punch out and deny the world the Faith experience. And I'd die every day to save your ass because it's _always_ a damn good reason.”

Fuck. The tears were back now. “You can’t fucking do that to me.”

“Do what?”

“Take your fucking pick.”

“Faith—”

“No. I landed my ass in bumfuck Kansas and everything I knew had changed. Just two months. _Two months_, Ducky. I got no idea what I’m supposed to be doing and yeah, things with the kid are good now, but if you hadn’t been there?” She shook her head, tears tipping over and spilling down her cheeks. “Think I woulda hit the fucking road and never looked back. And maybe that’s what I should’ve done since I’m apparently the key to opening Hell.”

She fell quiet to allow for commentary—for him to tell her no, of course not, that he wanted her here. But he didn’t say a damn thing.

Fine. Fucking fine. Way Faith saw it, most of her cards were on the goddamn table. She’d told him she liked him, she’d given him more than one out, told him she didn’t want to be done. Aside from passing him a goddamn note in class, she didn’t know what she could do to get it through his head that this had stopped being a hookup for her. If that was even wise, considering how little it seemed to matter to him.

Either she was an idiot or a glutton for punishment, because her fool mouth kept running. “Way it is with me right now, you’re my favorite thing about being alive. So yeah, I’m gonna put my slightly less breakable ass between you and a mega witch or whatever the fuck comes next. Your options are to kick me out or grow a pair and learn to fucking deal with it.”

The silence that followed this statement nearly broke her. Especially when he broke it by returning his attention to his phone. This time he managed to unlock the thing, and the next time he spoke, it wasn’t to her. Instead, she listened as he brought the angel up to speed on what had happened, what the danger was, and gave him his marching orders. All the while ignoring the tension in the air, so thick she wasn’t sure she’d make a multi-hour car ride with him.

In her whole goddamn life, she’d never felt as exposed or vulnerable as she did at that moment. The urge to really start crying like some pathetic schoolgirl hit her hard, but she chased it back and managed to get herself under control before she put a pin in the embarrassment that was her third life.

And focus on the endless miles of road between here and rest.

That was until Dean shifted. She didn’t look at him, not entirely eager to feel worse than she did. But then he reached over with his right hand and snatched her wrist off the steering wheel.

“The fuck—you _trying_ to get me to crash?”

“Nope,” he said. His voice sounded thicker than usual, but she still wasn’t about to look at him. Not until he squeezed her hand. Then she started and glanced at him, but found he was looking out the passenger window.

It wasn’t much, but it took the edge off the awful feeling that had taken residence in her chest. And for the moment, that was enough.

*~*~*

“Not sure I’m much in a state for a shag, love,” Spike teased as Buffy straddled him. “But I’ll get you where you need to go.”

“Shut up and bite me.”

“Ooh, you _are_ hot and bothered.”

“Spike, I’m serious.” She tossed her phone to the driver’s side, mentally shelving the less-than-fantastic news Faith had imparted for after her mate was all healed up. “Bite me.”

Her first priority, after Lucifer and Willow had disappeared, had been to get Spike as far from the bunker as possible. There was no telling if Lucifer would be back once whatever whammy Willow had put on him wore off. So she’d crossed the room to Spike, thrown his arm over her shoulder, and rushed him out to the Oldsmobile as fast as she dared.

Then she’d sat behind the wheel and panicked for a good three minutes because wheels and Buffy were much of the unmixy. The last time she’d driven had been after she and Zack had commandeered the getaway van Wolfram and Hart had staffed with those unscented demons, but she hadn’t been in a panic then. Anxious? Yes. Pissed? Yes. Ready to put the hurt on a certain evil law firm? Hell to the yes. But once she’d been out of her binds, the danger had passed and she knew she and Zack could handle themselves.

No one had put facing down the actual devil in the brochure. No one had warned her that the rings she’d put all of her faith in would be, at best, a stall against his firepower. No one had warned her she’d come dangerously close to watching the man she loved die, and not be able to do a damn thing about it because the devil had her frozen in place.

Spike might have cursed a lot while she fishtailed back onto the road. He might have called her a few names that would, once he was healed up, warrant him a pop in the nose. And she might have broken several traffic laws in her manic need to put as much distance between herself and what had happened as she could. The panic had lasted a stretch longer than she’d like to admit, not shattering really until Faith had called and pulled her attention off the road. After Spike had treated her to another slew of inventive British curses before finally barking at her to _pull the bloody hell over_, Buffy had gotten a hold of herself enough to navigate the car to the shoulder where Faith had told her the second half of her now least-favorite horror story.

Spike ran his black, charred fingers over her thighs and she bit back a whimper. “Not sure how much vamp blood’s gonna do for me, pet. Wager we find a cozy place somewhere down the road and find a butcher.”

“My blood has helped you before.”

“Slayer—”

“That’s right. I am the Slayer. I might be a vampire but I am still the Slayer. My blood reacted to whatever spell they did back there.” Not enough to count, thankfully—and yeah, right now she was counting her lucky stars that it seemed the PTB had given her a genuine reason to pass go and collect her two hundred dollars because she’d almost died a thousand times just in the last twenty minutes. “My blood reacted because I have slayer _in me_. And so will you, so drink.”

“I ever tell you how much I fancy this bossy side of yours?”

“Spike. Fangs out.”

He released a trembling sigh and ran one of his burned hands down her face. “Gonna pinch, love. Won’t be like it is when I’m inside you.”

“I know. I’ll deal. Bite me.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up and he neared her throat. “Might fancy it too, though,” he murmured, letting his fangs descend. “Vamp and all.”

“Just do it.”

He snickered and nibbled lightly on her neck. “Or you’ll assault me with bloody marketing slogans?”

“Spike—”

His fangs pierced her throat and Buffy shuddered a hard sigh, clutching at his arms and riding out the first rather intense wave of pain. But it wasn’t pain the way she remembered from these bites—the sort that were about hunger and not lust, as were the bites she and Spike gave each other on the regular. Prior to becoming a vampire, Buffy had had three sets of fangs in her throat—the Master, Angel, and Dracula. The Master and Angel had hurt—hell, Angel had nearly torn her throat out. Dracula had wooed her with his thrall and put her into some hypnotic state where she barely registered the pain. It had only been when Spike introduced his fangs in the bedroom that she’d taken to it—being bitten then was unlike any sexual high she’d ever experienced.

This bite was different, though. She was about as far from turned on as she could get, minus the scattered instances of torture and rape in her past. The prevailing emotion at the moment was fear. But even still, Spike’s fangs in her throat, while it did hurt, it was a good hurt. The pain was there, yes, but it did things to her she never would have expected from a bite like this.

“Ahh…” She clutched at the back of his head, focusing on the suction of his mouth against her skin. And despite herself, she began rolling her hips against him. “Spike…”

He growled into her throat, then tenderly pulled back, lapping the mark he’d made. When she convinced her eyes to open, she found him watching her with something between amusement and satisfaction.

“Much as I’d love to, pet, think we better put more miles between us and the devil, yeah?”

Buffy swallowed and nodded, her gaze roaming his face and—she noted with her own satisfaction—that he looked remarkably better. Still covered in soot from the fire, but his color was evening out and the burns themselves had started to fade. There hadn’t been precedent that she could recall, save that time after Glory had tortured him, where her blood would have helped, and at the time, she’d just assumed that the fact she was a vampire would make her something other than the ideal candidate. It was definitely good to know that the slayer factor of her current chemical makeup was still well in effect where this was concerned. Because survey said Lucifer would come at them with everything he had.

“Are you good to drive?” she asked. “I’ll keep driving, but—”

Spike practically clawed his way out from under her to assume control of the wheel. “Got it covered,” he said, then gave her a sly look. “Already been one fireball tonight. Don’t much fancy giving it another go.”

Buffy huffed and rolled her eyes as she settled into the seat he’d just vacated. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Never really appreciated just how _much _life I had to flash before my eyes.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You are what you eat.” Spike turned on the ignition, then reached over the bench and kissed her. “Try not to brass off the devil in the future, love. How about it?”

“You’re the one who almost went poof.”

“Still makin’ you swear it.” He dragged a hand down his face, then shifted and seized the cellphone she’d tossed aside when she’d straddled him. “Was too busy worryin’ about you drivin’ off the bloody road to listen to your chat, but I gather somethin’ happened in St. Louis?”

Buffy decided to ignore the latest slight about her driving. “Lucifer and Willow showed up there. Willow did some voodoo and apparently, we were all had. Her blood glowed and confirmed it was the last ingredient to open the Hellmouth.”

Spike pulled onto the road and aimed her a concerned frown. “Glowed like yours did?”

“Different color. Orange is close, but they were looking for gold. I’m officially out of the Hellmouth running.”

Had she not almost just lost him to the devil, Buffy definitely would have chastised him for the way he seemed to melt with relief, but this entire trip had been nothing but a big reminder of how much she loved him and she knew how fiercely that ran both ways. Not that she needed the reminder, per se, but it was one thing to discuss something in theory—it was quite another to face down death and know you’d never see the person you loved ever again.

“They get Faith’s blood, then?” he asked softly. “We headin’ back to war?”

“No to the blood, yes to war. Lucifer won’t stop coming after us until he has Faith or Rosalie.”

“And Red?” Spike tossed her a glance. “She saved my arse but took off with the devil anyway.”

“He’s convinced her he’s the good guy and everything Dean Winchester is the bad guy.”

“Funny. Don’t recall Dean bein’ with us just now.”

“Well, we’re friends of Dean’s, therefore we’re the enemy. Or confused and misguided, as the case may be. Which is why she didn’t let Lucifer kill you.” Buffy crossed her arms. “Or maybe she was smart enough to know that if he _had _killed you, I would’ve torn her throat out.”

Spike offered a soft smile, reached for her hand and brought it his mouth. “Love you too, Slayer.”

Buffy released a trembling breath, then edged across the bench and curled into his side. The scent of cooked flesh, burned clothing, singed hair, and smoke invaded her nostrils. At their next stop, Spike would have to change and get some real blood in his system. Though she hated the thought, she knew human would be the best bet. “Don’t die on me,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Swear it.”


	43. Chapter 43

If ever things slowed down enough, if ever it was safe for her to return home, Wright was going to make patrolling with his daughter an everyday thing. Both the hunter and the father in him couldn’t get enough of her—the way she seemed to bend the air itself to her will with every artful twist of her body. How no vamp or demon that got close enough to sniff her lasted more than three seconds. He’d known she was good but he’d had no concept of just how good, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the manner in which she’d been raised, her slayer abilities, training with Nick, Faith, and Sam, or a combination thereof. But fuck, he was one proud papa. Much more of this and he’d do something stupid like start crying.

Or like throwing a punch at the angel who popped out of freaking nowhere next to his daughter.

“Hello, Rosalie,” Castiel said, then looked down in time to appraise the stake Rosalie, in her surprise, buried in his chest. He frowned. “Next time, _hello _works just fine.”

Rosalie staggered back, her eyes wide. Wright ran up to her. “The fuck’s going on, Cas?” he snapped.

“I will explain,” he said, then grabbed them both and the ground disappeared.

When Wright opened his eyes, he was standing in the middle of the bunker, and dizzy enough to topple over.

Rosalie took in her surroundings and looked equally unimpressed. “What the hell, Cas?” she snapped, shoving the angel back. “I was on a fucking roll.”

“Have you bled?” Castiel asked.

“What?”

“Are you bleeding tonight?”

Rosalie blinked, glanced at Wright like he had the first fucking idea what all this was about, then shook her head and turned back to the angel. “Are you…are you asking me if I’m on my period? Because, boundaries, dude.”

“No,” Castiel replied, “I was asking if you were injured in the fight. But come to think of it, your menstrual cycle might be equally dangerous.”

Wright couldn’t help himself at that—he laughed. “You’re telling me.”

“Okay, you both are disgusting and I hate you.”

“Rosalie,” Castiel said, holding up a hand. “There was an incident with Dean and Faith in St. Louis.”

At this, Rosalie’s ire melted into pure concern. “Faith? Is she—”

“From what I gather, she is fine. But Lucifer was there, and he revealed that slayer blood, not specifically that belonging to Cassandra Hart, is the last ingredient.” Castiel turned to Wright. “Lucifer was unable to procure Faith’s blood before Dean banished him, but it is only a matter of time before he attempts to extract Rosalie’s.”

Well, there went every warm, fuzzy feeling he’d had tonight. The cold dread returned with a vengeance.

“Which is why I must know…” Castiel turned back to Rosalie. “Did you bleed tonight?”

“No,” Rosalie replied at once. “No one got close enough to touch me.”

“Hmm.” Castiel arched an eyebrow, then looked pointedly at Wright’s daughter’s crotch.

“Dude, don’t make me stake you again.”

“All blood must be considered, Rosalie. I’m sorry.”

Rosalie threw Wright a pleading look. “Dad?”

Fuck, he’d have given just about anything to walk away from this conversation, but Cas was right. For as often as Cordelia claimed Rosalie had leakage issues at home—things he didn’t want to know about but got to hear anyway thanks to the mother of his child—it wasn’t infeasible that a wayward tampon could be the portent of doom. Hell, that was how Willow had been able to locate Rosalie after Giles’s vanishing act in the first place—sheets stained with old blood.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he said. “But answer the angel. If not now, then we need to know when it starts.”

Rosalie mewled and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I hate you both.”

“I know this is uncomfortable,” Castiel said, “but—”

“It started this afternoon. Okay? Are you happy?”

There had been many lows in Wright’s life, and while this one wasn’t in the top three, it was up there somewhere.

“And you have procured a sanitary napkin or an absorption—”

“It’s not my first period, Cas! And fuck you!”

Castiel released a deep breath before looking to Wright. “This just became complicated.”

Wright had the insane urge to laugh. Not just laugh, giggle. But for the look his daughter threw him—one hundred percent Cordelia Chase and zero percent Zack or Amber Wright—he managed to hold his tongue, seeing as he’d like to keep it.

*~*~*

Dean wanted to break the silence. He’d started to a dozen times over the course of the car ride. The closest he came was when they stopped for gas halfway home. But the moment he tried to find his voice, he felt tears stinging his eyes and he shut himself off from Faith and the world, trying to focus on exactly how many more miles they had until the bunker.

He wasn’t surprised they were the first team back. They’d taken the closest outpost in preparation of a potential attack by Lucifer or Willow in Lebanon. As it had starkly been proven tonight, Rosalie and Faith were the two star players in this apocalypse and both had the power to start and finish this whole damn thing.

God, he had so much to say to Faith. He’d spent hours trying to figure out how to put it into words, but he couldn’t. He’d spent the last decade of his life trying to come to grips with himself. How the fuck did someone explain what they don’t fully understand?

They didn’t speak as they walked into the bunker. She wouldn’t even look at him as she’d tossed the keys his direction after they parked. He limped behind her, fully broken both physically and emotionally, as they got inside and made their way toward the main meeting room.

He wasn’t at all surprised to find his mom and Giles still awake and eyeballs-deep in research. “God, Dean,” Mom exclaimed in horror when she saw him, leaping up from her seat to rush to his side.

“I don’t understand.” Giles stood and tossed his glasses on the table, also coming around the table toward him. “Reports were you two were fine and you’d banished Lucifer with a blood sigil.”

“Blood has to come from somewhere,” Dean grunted, letting his mom drag him into a chair.

“Why didn’t you call Cas?” Mom admonished. She gave him a concerned look before throwing a quick glare toward Faith.

“Don’t,” he warned lowly. “I made the call. Cas needed to stay with Rose.” He groaned as his mom started unwrapping the cloth around his hand.

“Bloody hell,” Giles hissed as he looked down at the mangled flesh of Dean’s palm. “Mary,” he said, taking Dean’s wrist gingerly. “Go find the angel.”

Faith stood with her back facing him, but he knew what she was doing. It was the same fucking thing he’d do if he was pissed at her—stay until he knew she was okay.

“What else happened?” Giles asked quietly.

Dean sighed and swung his heavy head up to look at the man. “Nothing much other than what we said. Lucifer revealed his plan in super-villain fashion and then got zapped. Faith wiped up everything so he’s got nothing to use when he goes back.”

“What else happened to _you_?” Giles clarified. 

“Just your run of the mill knock around. Knee’s out of joint,” he admitted. “Pretty sure I broke some ribs. Just your usual kinda night out.”

“Stupid motherfucker,” Faith growled as she spun around to face him. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, but full of fiery anger. “Seven fucking hours you sat there and said _nothing_.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know if she was referring to his injuries or what she’d confessed in the car or both. He couldn’t do this here. With pure shame in himself, he looked away.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice music to his ears. “You should have told me.” He heard the concern in the angel’s scold. “I could have found you after I secured Rosalie.”

“It’s all good,” he told his best friend as he walked up and laid a healing hand on his head. The physical pain melted away, leaving him just feeling drained and anguished. Too bad that magic couldn’t fix his brain. “Thanks, man.” He stood up and gave Cas a quick hug.

“Go,” Cas directed him. “I will have Sam come find you once he arrives home.”

Dean knew he needed a shower and a bed. More importantly he needed to talk to Faith. When he looked up to find her, he noticed she’d left. Walking away without a word, he knew exactly where to find her.

Faith had all her stuff gathered in her arms by the time he found her exiting his bedroom. She kept her eyes downcast as she turned to make her way toward that room she kept trying to hide in. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let her walk away without saying what he had to say.

“Dean, stop!” she howled as he snatched her by the waist and dragged her back into his room. She dropped the bags as he shoved her with all his might and turned to slam the door closed behind them before she could escape.

They were standing in the dark. He expected her to punch him and break past him any second. “Faith,” he called to her. “Just…just let me…just let me say this.” He took a deep breath and began. “I stopped caring about living a long time ago. My dad sold his soul to save me over ten years ago and I’ve been living on borrowed time ever since that moment. I never _wanted_ him to do it.” He swallowed. “Sammy got killed and I turned around and did the same damn thing. I…I _had to_.” His voice cracked. “He was my baby brother and my only job since I was five years old was to protect him. My dad made me run him from the fire and that was it. I never got to be a kid. Never got to be anything. My only roles in life were to hunt and keep Sammy safe. And I went to Hell for it.” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “I never asked to be saved. Castiel pulled me from Hell because I was Michael’s vessel. I fought and protested until they found my half-brother and used him instead, and I’ve never forgiven myself for that.” He’d never admitted that aloud. “Never will.”

He closed his eyes and braced himself against the door. “And that’s it. I tried to move on after Sammy died. There was… Her name was Lisa. We lived together for about a year when Sammy was trapped in Hell. I thought I loved her…no, I think I _did_. Her and her son. But…it was fake. The white picket fence, the normal job, the normal life.” He barked a humorless laugh. “I fucking learned _golf. _But it was all a lie because I never had a normal life. I’ll never _be_ normal. Guys like me don’t get happy endings. We don’t deserve them. Our job is to make sure other people get theirs.”

He was shaking. With a trembling breath, he continued. “Truth of the matter is if I was any kind of man I would have let you leave.” He choked on the words. “Lucifer wouldn’t know you were alive and you’d be safe. But I was a selfish dick and I wanted you to stay. Not because of sex, but because you made me feel…” He cut off with a quiet sob. “You make me feel alive. And I’ve been dead so long I don’t know what it feels like.”

The dam inside him broke when he felt her hands cup his face in the dark. She pressed her body against him as her lips crashed against his own. He was crying too hard to kiss her properly and through the sounds escaping his throat, he could hear her sobbing too.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her as he leaned against the door. He lost track of time as they stood there together in the dark, their souls seeming to be clinging to one another for dear life.

Slowly she pulled back, her hands leaving his face to trace their way to his shoulders and then down his arms until their fingers interlocked. She took a step back and tugged gently for him to follow. He felt when they reached the edge of the bed and silently they began undressing one another in the dark.

It wasn’t until he slid himself inside her that he found the ability to speak. “Faith,” he gasped as he felt her sweet, wet pussy wrapping around his cock.

“Dean,” she moaned in response.

This wasn’t like their other encounters. Instead of hard and rough and intense, this was much softer. Much more focused on the sensation of their bodies as they moved as one. A steady rhythm of push and pull that was somehow more erotic than anything he’d ever experienced in his life. He felt every clench of her muscles, every whimper from her lips, every hitch in her breath as his body brushed against her clit.

“Ducky.” He heard the need in her voice. He hastened his thrusts slightly as his hands searched out her own, intertwining the fingers as he brought their arms up over her head. “Ducky, please.” She took one hand and slid it between their moving bodies. “Touch me.”

Unlacing his fingers, he sought out her clit, rubbing it with his thumb. She bucked beneath him and he felt the same rush overtake him as he longed to feel her come. Pressing harder with the pad of his thumb, he thrust harder and deeper, willing her to get there before he came.

“_Yes_!” Faith sobbed as she arched her back off the mattress and her pussy began spasming in orgasm. She squeezed him so tight he came nearly simultaneously, a deep, guttural sound escaping his lips as he spilled himself inside her.

Dean collapsed atop her, physically and emotionally drained. He was honestly unsure he had the ability to move. Thankfully he had the Slayer for strength as she eventually rolled him over to lay his spent body beside her on the mattress.

“Uh oh.” He heard a lightness in her voice he’d been missing for hours. “I think we broke my Ducky.”

“Yeah,” he said with a breathless chuckle. “Sorry that Number One isn’t up for giving you a number two tonight, baby. Hope I didn’t lose my ranking.”

Instead of a witty comeback, Faith just shifted herself to nuzzle against him. He slipped an arm under her body to wrap her in an embrace as he pulled her closer. She planted a soft kiss on his peck before resting her head upon his chest.

Dean didn’t know if he’d ever felt this way before. He liked it.

*~*~*

Nick bit his lip to keep from laughing. Not that he found the situation funny in the slightest. Wright had updated him a few hours ago when he’d gotten a ride to the cantina to collect his rental car and wife. But as he stood here now watching Rosalie sitting in her pajamas atop the bed they shared, he felt an unexpected burst of laughter bubbling up his throat.

“Nicholas Hunter, don’t you _dare_,” she warned.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the colorful way his girlfriend described the situation and the conversation she’d experienced with Castiel. “Sorry,” he tittered.

“Laugh it up, fuzz ball,” she snapped at him before flopping herself down on the pillows. “You’re just peeing your pants with joy over there. Asshole.”

“I’m not happy about any of this, Rose,” he said as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “If I pissed myself right now, it’d most certainly be in fear. The sodding devil himself is out to get you. This is a bit worse than thirsty vampires and evil law firms, love.”

“Yeah, and you wanted to put me on lockdown. Now for the next three to seven days I’m officially quarantined. Dad always said he wanted to put me away up in the tower of a castle. Looks like he found a bomb-proof bunker instead.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “You know this is all for your safety. You and the world you so much enjoy saving.”

“Yeah, but you had to go and laugh about it with your stupid ‘I told you so’ face,” she pouted.

“That was more a ‘I can’t believe you’re telling me you had to talk about your period with an angel and your dad’ kinda face.” He gave her a smirk. “Which might I add, completely explains you this past week.”

“Shut up,” she growled before reaching over to shove him so hard his ass flew off the bed. He’d expected it, but still stumbled a few steps as he fought to maintain his balance.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said once he quit chuckling. “This beats the alternatives because now we have control of the situation.”

“Tell that to my bleeding uterine wall.”

Nick gave her a soft, warm look of love and compassion. He knew how much this embarrassed his Rose. She suffered from very uncomfortable menstrual cycles and heavy bleeding. He’d only been aware as much as he’d experienced as her watcher before they proclaimed their love and moved in together—the frequent bathrooms trips to change her hygiene products, the cramps that would affect her eagerness to train and patrol and the fact she once had an accident where she’d bled through her pants while they were taking on a very aggressive werewolf. The first morning she’d awoken to find she’d left a bloody stain on the sheets they shared had mortified her to tears. He’d spent most of the day quietly assuring her in moments he could get her alone that after years of research and training with blood and guts of demons and monsters, a little spot of menstrual fluid didn’t really get his knickers in a twist. Maybe it woulda grossed out a bloke who hadn’t seen gore and death with their own eyes. A period was just fucking natural.

“Where is everyone?” Rose asked him, longing to change the subject.

“Buffy and Spike arrived shortly after I got here from work. Faith and Dean went on to bed.” He began to disrobe by pulling off his shirt and tossing it over toward his desk. “Lucifer attacked both the guys tonight pretty rough trying to get access to slayer blood.”

“Both? I’d heard about Spike. Which doesn’t make sense because of the ring.”

Nick kicked off his shoes. “Well, we’re dealing with Lucifer himself. I suppose he holds a power that is a mite stronger than the magic the Ministry infused in those rings. Possibly the only thing other than God himself that could override the protections.” He sighed. “Dean I heard had gotten broken pretty bad when the devil used him as a bouncy ball. He also had to cut his hand up pretty bloody to have enough to paint a blood sigil on the wall and banish Lucifer before he could take any blood from Faith.”

Rosalie frowned. “Cas should have gone and healed him after he brought Dad and me home.”

“Apparently Dean was adamant on Cas watching over you. Giles said Faith was livid. He said it looked like they’d had quite the row on the drive home and weren’t even looking at each other anymore.”

“Damn,” Rose sighed as she watched Nick pull off his jeans. “I really liked them together. Something about it just kinda seemed perfect, you know?”

“Well, this was probably the longest relationship Faith’s ever had. Let’s call it progress and look on the bright side.” He kicked off his socks before crawling into the bed.

“Still. She’s gonna be awful. A breakup and a lockdown? I’m not sure whether I feel worse for her or us.”

“Us,” Nick said as he reached over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. “Definitely us. Faith is a tough bird and she’s not going to crack over some bloke she’s been shagging for a week. She might be upset, but that usually reveals itself through anger and violence.”

“But if she’s being kept from patrolling…”

Nick shuddered. “Love, I’m already on the short list with the devil. He went for both the slayers’ bedmates. Please do me a favor and keep me from dying by friendly fire?”

She rolled over and wrapped her arms around him before giving him a kiss. “I’ll do my best, but we both know I’m not ready. I’m kinda still a Padawan to Master Faith Kenobi Kick My Ass.”

He snickered and kissed her again. “Save me, Rosalie. You’re my only hope.” He snuggled her closer as he gave her a final kiss goodnight.

“I love you, you adorkable dweeb.”

“I know.” He fell asleep giggling to himself.

*~*~*

Sabrina had passed out on the sofa in a sea of papers and files. There was too much information to absorb. The connection between MACUSA and Wolfram and Hart seemed to have began immediately after the law firm first opened. Chances were MACUSA had been one of the firm’s first clients. They signed a partnership agreement stating that neither organization would undermine the business of the other and both would work to maintain secrecy from the NoMaj population on the existence of either entity.

With the knowledge she’d already obtained concerning the “business” of Wolfram and Hart, Sabrina knew this was no innocent contract. MACUSA had expressed in writing that they would give Lucifer and the other senior partners carte blanche to exert their will over the NoMaj population in return for autonomy of the magical community.

Sabrina went and threw up after she’d read that. Then, she’d gone and grabbed a Sprite and a bag of Doritos from the kitchen and started investigating the stolen data again.

Which was why she woke up with a paper covered in nacho cheese dust stuck to her face. She licked her fingers clean and wiped away the orangish smudge on the page as best she could before tucking the piece back into the file she’d been reviewing.

Her power nap had jarred a memory loose from earlier in the day. Scrambling for her wand among the debris, she flicked her wrist as soon as she gripped the familiar wood. “_Accio_ Sabrina Deanne file.”

There was barely a rustle of papers as the manila folder bound by a string of tan leather came floating toward her.

Sabrina honestly didn’t know what she’d find. She was pretty shocked and impressed that her file seemed to be bursting with more pages than the folder looked designed to hold. She had never been considered special as a witch. She had done well in school, but was no Hermione. And she’d studied hard to become an Auror, but was no Harry. All in all, she didn’t know what intel they could have that made her worth the paper. Unless they’d kept all her exam scores and performance evaluations. If so, this would be a quick detour from the more important research.

After untying the knot, she flipped open the folder to see her ID badge photo clipped to the inside cover. She looked nervous and a mess as it had been her first day as a MACUSA employee. God, she’d hated that picture for years now.

Looking over to the first page of the file, she saw her official profile.

_Name: Sabrina Chloe Deanne_

_Date of Birth: April 18, 1992 (age 27)_

_Place of Birth: Chicago, Illinois _

_Mother: Nora Deanne Wang. Pureblood. Witch. Alive._

_Father: John Winchester. NoMaj. Hunter. Deceased._

Sabrina stared at the ink on the page. For twenty-seven years, she’d begged her mother to tell her anything about her father. One time when she’d been quite drunk on eggnog at Christmas, her mom had slipped that he had been a NoMaj. Other than that, any mention that she even had a father had been met with sullen silence.

A hunter made sense. Sabrina always wondered how her mother could have slept with a NoMaj. She hated them. But a hunter was a different variety. They weren’t oblivious with the real world, just unable to magically participate in it.

Like Wesley. She blushed at the thought of him. Maybe one day she could tell her mom about Wes and they could finally talk about her father—John Winchester—like adults.

She looked at the next line of her bio.

_Siblings:_

_Dean Winchester. NoMaj. Hunter. Alive. (See attached)_

_Sam Winchester. NoMaj. Hunter. Alive. (See attached)_

_Adam Mulligan. NoMaj. Student. Deceased. (See Dean Winchester, attached)_

Sabrina read it at least twenty times before her brain could start to absorb the information. She had brothers. Three brothers. As an only child, this felt surreal yet exciting. She’d always wanted to have a brother or sister growing up. Today she’d finally gotten all her wishes granted.

Slowly as the shock wore away something ticked in the back of her mind. She recognized the name Winchester from somewhere. Flipping the pages, she scanned the papers for the name.

Her heart stopped when she found the beginning of the Dean Winchester report. It was word for word the intelligence briefing she’d received two months prior.

MACUSA had known she was Dean and Sam Winchester’s sister when they’d tasked her with Obliviating their minds. Not only that, but they knew from the files the danger it would pose to two hunters to alter their memories and erase their knowledge of magic and the supernatural. In essence, she’d been meant to sentence them to death.

Sabrina slammed the file shut, her pulse racing so fast it pounded in her ears. She had get out of here. She had to get as far from Los Angeles and MACUSA as possible and quickly. Before she did something foolish and dangerous and wrong.

After gathering everything back into Hermione’s handbag, she stuffed it into her own leather satchel and Apparated. She hadn’t processed where she was heading until she was already halfway there.

Sabrina lost track of time as she made the trek northward. With the cover of night, she was able to make the journey much quicker than before. That being said, it was late and the cabin was dark when she arrived.

She pounded on the door. “Wesley?” She heard no response so she knocked louder. “Wes! Please!”

When the door flew open, the barrel of a pistol stared her in the face. She took a step back and poised her wand at the ready.

“Bloody hell!” Wes cried as he recognized her, his arm dropping to his side. “Sabrina? What’s wrong?”

Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion and defeat. “Everything. My entire life has been a lie.”

A sad look of recognition crossed his eyes. “I hate it when that happens.”


	44. Chapter 44

Faith disentangled herself from Dean after she heard his breathing even out, her mind all over the place and her body not far behind. The fucking rollercoaster of a night had caught up with her—the long hours of silence in the car, the fury that had hit her when he’d revealed to Giles and Mary how hurt he’d actually been, the fact that Cas could have popped in at any time to relieve the pain, and then the weight of everything he’d told her when she’d tried, again, to pick her shit up and move the fuck on.

But she didn’t want to move on, because the things she’d told him were true too. Even if he pissed her off like no one else ever had. Even if she was scared out of her fucking mind of what all this meant. Dean at least had had the luxury of playing house with someone once, so he likely knew the cues and shit, how things were supposed to go once they weren’t just physical anymore. Faith’s trip down that particular road had lasted less than forty-eight hours and ended with her death. And going down that road in the first place had scared the shit out of her.

She needed to explain this to someone, but the only person she really wanted to talk to was Dean, except he was out of commission at the moment and she wasn’t sure she had the emotional bandwidth for another heavy conversation. She wasn’t even if sure it was a good idea and given that she still felt more exposed than she ever had before—aggravating the wound seemed a decent way to make it hurt more. She made him feel alive and he was her favorite part of being alive, but fuck all if she knew what that meant going forward.

She about tripped over something in the dark and bit back a curse. Damn, windowless rooms were a bitch. The thing she tripped over turned out to be his jeans—she knew from the belt still there, and the heaviness in the pockets. As though it had a mind of its own, her hand darted into one of those pockets and closed around his phone. He hadn’t mentioned the video she’d left for him the other night—a quick gloat about her superior knowledge of _Child’s Play_ trivia after he’d stalked off to the kitchen in a drunken funk. He’d returned with a bottle of water to help ease the throb in his head, decided the movie was stupid and that he’d rather be doing her before he passed out. Faith had used his brief absence to film a _told you so _victory speech on his phone and had fully anticipated being punished for it once he’d discovered its existence. Granted, the shit had hit the fan rather fast and they’d been moving nonstop, so it made sense that Dean hadn’t seen it yet.

Maybe this was a shit idea, but while she was feeling this way, she wanted to get a few things out. And she could always sneak back in and delete it later.

Faith felt her way through the room, though she had most of the layout memorized. She knew where he kept his T-shirts and slipped one on. She had no idea where he’d tossed her panties and didn’t really want to feel her way through the shopping bags for a fresh pair, so instead she let her senses direct her to Dean’s dresser, where she wrestled free a pair of boxers. That would do.

She deftly slipped out of the room and made her way down the hall. The bunker was quiet, but not a sleep kind of quiet. The sort of quiet that told her Giles and Mary were still up, and likely wouldn’t call it a night until Sam and Dawn returned safely home. She hadn’t seen Nick or Ro, but figured they were all cuddled up together somewhere. And B and Blondie were probably doing what every good slayer did when she didn’t die—celebrating the fact that they were alive.

Xander and Anya were apparently in residence as well, but Faith had yet to run into them and wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. Wright and Cordelia had arrived too, so it would be nice to see at least two more friendly faces. While they weren’t exactly a big happy family, she knew they would have her back should Dawn start flapping her trap again.

She guessed Zack and Kelly would be here soon, too. The bunker was going to start feeling very crowded.

Faith padded her way down the hall and helped herself into the communal bathroom. She took a breath, then brought up Dean’s phone and typed in his passcode—6969. He’d given it to her to look something up on the road and apparently hadn’t decided to change it.

She brought up the camera, checked that the video she’d made rubbing in her Chucky victory was still there, then, before she could talk herself out of it, hit the red _record _button and started talking.

“Hey,” she said to the camera. “Um… look, you just passed out. It’s been a bitch of a day and my head’s all over the place. But I kinda feel like I need to get this out and for some stupid reason, it’s easier talking to your fucking phone. I ain’t good at this shit either. In fact, the last time I was in the neighborhood of where my head is now, I went up like a firecracker. Well, you’d know. You were there for that. I think about that night a lot. Probably more than I should, but, man, you’ve died. Kinda hard not to play it on repeat.” She exhaled, ran her free hand through her hair. “Few times I’ve caught winks and you haven’t been all up in my business, I dream about it. The fight. What dying felt like. You remember what happened right before? I begged you to shoot me. Didn’t have any fucking clue who you were or why you were there. But I saw the gun and thought you might be the ticket to keeping the evil assholes from getting the Faith bracelet souvenir. I was terrified of dying but… You coulda blown my head off and who knows where we’d be then? No telling if Chuck woulda sent me back if it’d gone another way—if I’d been missing half a skull, for instance. And this is gonna sound ridiculous ‘cause I didn’t know you for shit, but when I think about that now, it seems like it was easier ‘cause you were there. Which makes no fucking sense, I know. But there it is.”

Faith licked her lips, looked down, steeled herself, then raised her gaze back to the camera. “I’m sure if you asked B or Dawn or any of the old Scoobies, they’d trip over themselves to tell you that the problem with Faith is she has daddy issues. How else could a guy like Richard fucking Wilkins get her to go full villain? Part of it was ego. I liked feeling needed, appreciated, for me. You’re called to be this thing and it gives you purpose. And it happened at a time when I really fucking needed that. But I showed up in SunnyD and it turns out that was a one slayer town. No one needed me.” She paused and rolled her eyes at herself. “And I don’t wanna paint this as a poor Faith, no one understood me and the other kids were mean. B gave me every chance and I was too much of a shit to appreciate that. Got jealous because I didn’t feel good enough. And I think that’s been the punch-line of my fucking life. Sure there’s some quack with a fancy degree who would charge me by the minute to tell me the reason I ride so much dick is because I’m starved for affection or some shit. And hell, what do I know? Maybe the quack would be right. Guess you always want what you’ve never had.”

Again, she looked down. She took a few deep breath, dragged her free hand under her eyes.

“What I’m trying to not say is I’ve never been anyone’s anything. Well, anything that mattered. So everything you said earlier, even if that’s all of it, is more than anyone’s given me. I’m good being that for you, even if I’m scared shitless about fucking it up or letting you down, or myself down. Easy to live when you have such fucking low expectations for yourself you’d have to take a fucking dive not to meet ‘em.” She paused, then grinned. “And maybe I’m going soft, but tonight was… I don’t do shit like that. Freaks me out when anyone tries. But with you? That might’ve been the best I’ve had it.”

Faith cut the recording and lowered the phone with a shaky breath. In fact, everything about her was shaking. She swallowed and pulled up the video, watched the first few seconds and hovered her finger over the trash icon. Smart thing to do would be delete it now that she’d said it—getting it out was what had been important. Only good that could come of him finding this was major embarrassment. 

But then she thought of what he’d told her, of the absolute fucking conviction he’d had earlier in giving up his life for hers. And hell, it wasn’t like anything she’d said here was more humiliating than the shit she’d spouted off in the car. Only difference was there’d be evidence of the fact…and her ducky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t that fucking stupid. 

Faith gave her reflection a cursory glance, then stepped into the hallway again, just in time to see Sam moving with purpose down the hall toward Dean’s room. 

And even though she was pretty fucking certain this was overstepping, she didn’t care. Faith straightened her shoulders and hurried to cut him off at the pass. 

“Whoa there, Jolly Green. Where’s the fire?”

Sam blinked and looked at her, then at her attire. Yeah, she was really rocking the “I fucked your brother” look at the moment, but hell, wasn’t like it was a secret. 

“Are you…” He gestured at the door. 

Was he dense? “Yeah. Your brother really doesn’t think much of your guest rooms.”

“I… Giles had just said something… I guess he was wrong.” Sam cleared his throat. “Look, I need to talk to him. So…”

“Yeah. Figure we all need to powwow. But not tonight.” Faith offered a flat smile and nodded toward the door. “Been long day. Boy needs his rest.”

Sam arched an eyebrow and gave her a more obvious once-over. “And…that’s what you were doing in there. Resting.”

Faith arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, careful to tuck Dean’s phone against her breast to keep it out of sight. “Got something to say, Sammy? Don’t hold back.”

He considered her for a long moment, and she saw the conflict in his eyes. His own worry and exhaustion at odds with defiance and probably—if he was doing Dawn on the regular—some mixed feelings, if not outright dislike for Faith.

“He wanted to see me when we got in,” Sam said at last. “And I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “And it ain’t nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not for you to decide.”

Faith really wasn’t itching for a fight, and she definitely wasn’t itching for one with Dean’s brother. But she’d put him into a wall if she needed to.

“There’s nothing you can tell him that he’ll be better equipped to handle right now than he would after a good sleep,” she said in a calm, steady tone. “And I think you know that. I know you’re wiped and worried, so why don’t you do yourself and big brother a solid by getting some shuteye?”

Sam seemed to consider this. “Faith, I know you mean well, but Dean and I have a way of doing things. So—”

“Sam.” Faith let Dean’s phone slide into her right hand as she braced her left on the door, “go to bed. Snuggle up with Dawn. Get some rest. After the day he’s had, I’m not letting you go in there. He needs to sleep before we start all this shit all over again. You can try to go through me but I really don’t recommend it.”

At last, a spark of anger flared behind his eyes, and she wondered for a second if he’d take a swing at her. And yeah, she was probably overstepping, but she didn’t give a shit. She knew she was right. She also knew Sam knew she was right and was probably fighting now more on principle than anything else. If Dean wanted to give her shit later for sticking her neck where it didn’t belong, she’d let him, and maybe she’d listen. But that was a problem for tomorrow. She was all tapped out right now.

Sam stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tight and his nostrils somewhat flared. Then he gave a jerky nod, turned and stormed down the hall to where she assumed he holed up. Hell, Dean’s was the only room she knew around here, aside from the one he wouldn’t let her claim. Faith remained where she was, ready when Sam turned to throw one last glare at her. Unmovable. So he knew she meant business.

It was only after he was in his room that Faith edged the door open, half-convinced Dean would be waiting on the other side with a glare of his own. But the room was quiet, save for the telling, heavy rhythm of Dean’s breathing. She released a sigh and felt her way around as the light from the hallway extinguished. She found Dean’s jeans and slipped the phone back in the pocket, then stripped out of his boxers and T-shirt and climbed back into bed.

The second she was under the covers, Dean reached for her and pulled her against him, her back to his chest. For a second, she thought she’d had it wrong and he was awake, but he grunted and nuzzled the crook of her neck in a way that let her know he was still mostly asleep.

Faith released a long breath and stroked the hand around her middle. “Good Ducky.”

Dean gave a soft sound of agreement, kissed the shell of her ear, and fell still again.

In a few minutes, her eyes were heavy, and she allowed sleep to pull her under.

*~*~*

Sabrina wiped at her eyes and offered Wesley a grateful smile when he pressed a cup of tea into her hands. The warmth of the ceramic against her palm was reassuring—grounded her in the moment. This moment, which was real. Unlike all the moments that had made up the majority of her life.

Wesley had been a good listener, or at least a good host. He’d nodded and commiserated as she’d relayed the things she’d discovered, his expression remaining carefully neutral. After she’d finished talking, he’d stood and put the kettle on in the manner of the perfect English gentleman. When he’d returned, it was with a plate of cookies.

Sabrina took a slip of her tea—she’d never been much of a tea drinker, but now seemed the time to start. She stared at him and he stared back rather unapologetically, his gaze serious and inscrutable.

“You look better than you did when I was here last,” she said. “Much less Mountain Man.”

Wesley’s lips twitched. “Ah, well, I decided to start giving my personal hygiene more care after that visit. I found I’d prefer it if the sight of me didn’t repulse you.”

Sabrina snickered and shook her head. “Yes. I can see why that would be a concern, considering.” She licked her lips and swallowed. “You…met them, didn’t you? My”—god, she was actually going to say this word—“brothers? They were in Los Angeles around the time that…”

Well, there was no good way to finish that sentence. _Around the time that you accidentally betrayed the woman you loved?_

At the thought, a sour taste invaded Sabrina’s throat and she forced herself to choke it back. It was easy to forget that Wesley had been recently involved with someone else, someone he was likely mourning, and that their connection—however powerful it seemed—was likely a bit more heavily favored on her side than his.

Also, this seemed a ridiculous thought to have now, all things considered. There were certainly more pressing matters than the state of her love life.

Wesley nodded when she didn’t finish her sentence and released a long breath. “I met them. I can’t say I was at my best then. Faith had just…” He swallowed and looked away, his eyes pained. “I got her killed. Your brothers assisted in the recovery of Zack Wright’s daughter and brother. From my limited interaction with them, they were both very honorable men willing to go to extreme measures in service of good. I could certainly think of worse familial connections.”

This much was definitely comforting. The clash of thoughts that had been racing through Sabrina’s head since she’d read the file kept cycling through the highlights. The government she’d worked for had tasked her to essentially kill her own family. Her mother, a proud witch with an extreme prejudice against NoMajes, had once had an affair with a prominent hunter. Prominent enough that Wesley had known his name, if only for his former association with Zack Wright. Apparently, John Winchester had been enough of a character to have starred in more than one of Wright’s pre-settling down hunting stories. And Wolfram and Hart essentially allowed MACUSA to operate as it helped keep the NoMaj population in line. MACUSA, in turn, looked the other way whenever Wolfram and Hart declared war, using its considerable reach and influence to supply intelligence through means that were both convert and within the realm of the law.

How long before MACUSA realized she’d defected? Were there Aurors at her apartment right now? Had they discovered the documents in the archive room were indeed phony? How long did she have before they tracked her down?

The whole mess with Willow now seemed rather inconsequential, which she knew wasn’t fair. There was more at stake than what she’d thought before. Hell, she hadn’t even allowed herself to consider Sam Seaborn and the others who were assuredly awaiting word. Hopefully Hermione could keep them handled for the moment. As it was, Sabrina wasn’t sure she was the right person to be helping with this at all. She certainly couldn’t return to MACUSA, if such was even possible. At the moment, every instinct in her body screamed at her to either stay put with Wesley or head east to Kansas to meet her brothers. Warn them about what might be coming for them—offer to help however she could.

Assuming of course they believed her when she showed up. That they cared.

“I think we ought to move,” Wesley said at length. “You’re not going back to California, are you?”

Sabrina shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t know where I’ll go, but… I can’t be there anymore. Everything I knew was a lie and I don’t know what to do.” She pressed her lips together and gave him a hopeful look. “Do you?”

“I wish I did. Everything I’ve done to this point has been improvised and rather poorly at that.” He offered a flat smile. “But you’re welcome to come with me.”

That wasn’t quite the same as _“Sabrina, darling, I want you with me,” _but perhaps that was asking too much.

“They’re going to be looking for me. I can Transfigure myself and you. I imagine there’s a lot I can do to stay off the radar, but they’ll have the full might of the government at their back.” A pause. “If they find us together, they’ll likely kill us both.”

“You’re trying to warn me off, aren’t you?”

“It’s only fair.”

Wesley sighed and rose to his feet. “I wouldn’t be here were it not for you, Sabrina. That’s not something I take lightly. You saved my life. Allow me to return the favor, however I can. I understand my resources pale in comparison to yours, but…I’d like to try.”

Sabrina set her tea on the coffee table and likewise rose to her feet. “Because you feel like you owe me, is that it?”

“No.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Because I’ve lost too many women I care about and I don’t think I can do it again.”

Well, that was certainly more forward. Sabrina released a shaky breath. “You care about me?”

“I’m trying very hard not to kiss you right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re upset and I don’t want to take advantage.”

Sabrina stepped forward, some of the heaviness in her chest lifting. “Take advantage,” she urged him as she began tugging at his shirt. “Take advantage until we can’t walk. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

“Sabrina—”

“Please, Wes. I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes darkened and a soft whimper escaped his lips. He pulled her to him and slanted his mouth over hers, and the weight fell the rest of the way off. There would be things to do—measures to take. A Patronus message to the Potters and Weasleys in the morning, for one—they had taught her how to do this, as it remained a highly guarded secret among former Order of the Phoenix members—and perhaps an owl to the governor. She’d have to flip through _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _to get an idea on how the Boy Who Lived had managed to remain off the radar from the Death Eaters and see how much of that magic she could safely replicate. And she had her new family to consider.

But at the moment, Wesley was peeling off her blouse and she was yanking off his belt, and she didn’t care what came next, as long as it was one of them.

*~*~*

When Faith awoke, it was with the sort of heaviness that only came from deep sleep. The room was still dark, thanks to the lack of windows, but she was reasonably confident it was morning now. A glance at the clock on Dean’s bedside table confirmed as much, though it was still rather early. She tried at first to go back to sleep, but her mind had already sprung into action, reminding her of everything that had come before and teasing her with what fresh hell might await her today.

After fifteen minutes, she conceded defeat and began the process of disentangling herself from Dean again. The fact that she didn’t manage to wake him up just reinforced everything she’d told Sam the night before. Dean had been wiped and he’d needed sleep. Hopefully, he’d back her up on as much when he finally did stumble out.

In the interim, Faith relocated the discarded boxers and T-shirt and slipped them back on. They might be a bit indecent, but she didn’t care. Most of the guys in this place had seen her buck-ass naked and those who hadn’t could fucking deal.

Faith returned to the bathroom where she’d stolen off to just a few hours earlier to grab a shower. She and Dean had both been in serious need of one the night before but had mutually decided that make-up sex was more important. Afterward, she toweled her hair, pulled Dean’s clothes back on, and headed down the hall toward the kitchen.

She wasn’t altogether surprised to see Rosalie and Nick already up. Well, Nick got up with the sun most days. Rosalie was more of a mid-morning sleeper, but with all the excitement from the night before, it would likely be impossible to go back to sleep.

“Mornin’, kids,” Faith said, padding to the coffeemaker. “This shit fresh?”

Silence greeted her. When she turned, she found them both staring.

“What?”

“Are you wearing Dean’s clothes?” Rosalie blurted, then flushed and looked away.

Faith frowned and glanced down. “Uhh, well, my idea of PJs leaves little to the imagination, as I’m sure Nicky can tell you. This is at least somewhat decent.”

“Thought you two had a row,” Nick said.

Good lord, these assholes were giving her an idea of all the shit she’d skipped after dropping out of high school. “What the hell is this?”

“So you didn’t break up?” Rosalie asked eagerly.

“Break… The fuck?” She glared at Nick. “What kinda bullshit have you been filling her head with?”

“You mean from the way you and Dean have been joined at the hip since you returned?” Nick replied with an arched eyebrow. “I didn’t have to tell her _anything_. There’s something going on there.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Not this shit again.”

“I know you—”

“Yeah, and if I recall, fighting led to fucking with you too. Often, since you’re so good at pissing me off.” Faith grabbed a coffee mug and poured. The pot was still hot so she took that to mean it was fresh.

“Yes, well, from the sound of things, your fight with Dean—”

“Would you just back the fuck off?” Faith snapped, whirling back around. “Don’t remember inviting you into my business, either one of you. Also, think the fuckin’ apocalypse takes precedence over this schoolyard bullshit.”

Nick groaned. “Bloody hell, are you on the rag, too? Not sure I’m going to survive if I’m trapped with two of you.”

Faith would have tossed her scalding hot coffee into his face had Rosalie not reached over and smacked her stupid boyfriend upside the head—with slayer strength, if the sound of that _thwack _was to be trusted. And served the dipshit right.

“Ow.” Nick turned back to his slayer, pouting. “Did you have to hit so hard?”

“Did you have to be a douche?”

“Bleeding hell, Rose, Faith’s a mate. It’s just us here.”

“And you’re still a douche.”

Faith raised her mug in a toast. “What I’ve been sayin’ all along,” she murmured before taking a sip. “And I’m pretty sure I’m off periods for the next three years, but try to ask me shit like that again and see how it goes.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped. “Three _years_? That is so not fair. How did you do it and how can I do it?”

“Next time we’re out, kid, I’ll hook you up with an anti-Venus seed.”

Now Nick’s jaw dropped. “What the… You went on bloody _birth control _for this bloke?” He whipped back to gawk at Rosalie, who seemed to have lost the plot, then came around again. “You, Faith, went on _birth control_?”

“Say that louder and I’ll staple your goddamn tongue to the table.”

“Did I miss something?” Rosalie asked, looking between the two of them. “I mean, _I’m _on birth control, so—”

“Love,” Nick said in a rush, “Faith has bloody well refused to go on birth control for any man as long as I’ve known her.”

When Rosalie looked to Faith, she answered with a shrug. “He wants to tap it, he can wrap it. If not, there’s always been someone who would.”

“This is what I’m saying,” Nick said. “Exactly what I’m saying. Faith—”

“Is officially fucking done with this conversation,” Faith finished for him. She tossed back another mouthful of coffee, then dumped the rest down the sink. “Come get me when the important shit starts to happen.”

She turned to head down the hall back to Dean’s room, and nearly plowed over the man himself. He looked half-asleep, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a wife-beater, his hair ruffled and his face reflecting where he’d crashed a bit too hard against his pillow. He peeked an eye open at her then gave her a soft smile.

“Coffee on?” he asked.

“Yeah. I was just headin’ back.”

“Need to shower like something awful, I know, but figure it’d be better to be awake for that. My luck, I’d be done in by the shower mat.” He glanced over her shoulder to where Nick and Rosalie were undoubtedly staring at them. “Sammy and Dawn get in safe last night?”

Faith tensed and held her breath.

“Yeah,” Rosalie said after a beat. “He didn’t come find you?”

“You were asleep,” Faith said under her breath. “Out like a fuckin’ light. Told him to wait until today.”

Dean considered this, then nodded and shrugged. “Probably the right call.”

She hoped he still thought so later. “Better go get dressed for real,” she muttered and slipped past him. “Since you’re up, don’t have to feel my way around your room anymore.”

She took off down the hall without waiting for a reply, and wasn’t too surprised when she heard Dean following her. She waited until she knew they were both out of eyesight before turning to give him what-the-hell look, though her heart started hammering at the thought that he’d gotten a look at the videos she’d made on his phone.

But that wasn’t it. “For what it’s worth, I think you look great in what you have on,” he said, then dipped his head toward hers for a soft kiss. Like a little holdover from the night before. “Just wanted to let you know.”

Faith released a short laugh. “Ducky ain’t too hard to impress,” she replied, patting his chest.

He hedged a second. Then, in a soft voice, asked, “Just…we good? I know last night…”

Her throat tightened. “Five by five,” she said, and gave him another quick kiss before turning around again.

“Five by five,” he called after her. “That my new ranking?”

“Don’t push it.”


	45. Chapter 45

Dean was feeling pretty good as he toweled off and slipped on his flannels. Last night had been…maybe the therapy session everyone had always told him he needed. Granted, he didn’t think you were supposed to fuck the shrink when done. If that had been part of the deal, who knows how well adjusted he’d be by now.

He’d needed to say what he said there in the dark. Not just for Faith, but for himself. Like Adam… Fuck when was the last time he’d said his half-brother’s name? And bringing up Sammy and the fire? He’d kinda unloaded nearly thirty-five years of childhood trauma and PTSD.

The kicker was Faith hadn’t backed away. He’d unloaded his heaviest bags of emotional shit at her feet and broken down sobbing like a pathetic little boy. But instead of shoving him aside and making a break for it, she’d held him and cried and then made love to him.

Yeah, they were officially out of the friends with benefits zone. Probably they never had been, but that was for another time and place to think about. Right now there was an apocalypse to focus on. His mission was simple: protect Faith at all costs.

He wasn’t surprised when she wasn’t in the room when he got back. He was a little surprised to find Sam sulking on his bed.

“You’re a brave little toaster,” he teased. “I’ve had many a sex on those sheets in the past week. Pretty sure it’s my laundry day.”

“Ugh!” Sam cried as he hopped up in horror. “God, how could I forget? You two did it last night, didn’t you? She was wearing you clothes.”

Dean remembered how hot she looked in his shirt and boxers and smiled. “Yeah we did.”

Sam shook his head, his frown deepening. “Dean, you need to be careful.”

Rolling his eyes, he turned to start looking for some threads in the closet. “Sammy, I know. All things considered, St. Louis went perfectly. We danced with the devil and the witch and came out the other side. Spike and Buff too. And we found out the Cassandra Hart thing was a trap before it was too late.”

“Yeah,” Sam slowly. “But that wasn’t exactly what I meant. You need to be careful. With Faith.”

He knew that tone. That wasn’t a voice saying that Dean needed to be careful because Faith was a target for Lucifer and the single-most important person in the world at the moment. No. Sam was saying it like Faith was some kinda bad thing. Like Faith was something dangerous or threatening.

Dean grabbed a pair of jeans and whirled around to look at his brother in disdain. “Really? You spent the last few months sniffing around Dawn and a panty snatch and couple rounds of Hide the Pickle and suddenly you’re chugging her Kool-Aid? Come off it, Sammy. Their beef is a bunch of high school bullshit that, compared to what we’ve done to each other, seems like preschool.”

“She tried to kill her, man.”

Dean gave him a blank look and shrugged. “Yeah? And you even let me be turned into a vampire that one soulless time. Dude, if you made me make a list of how many times we’ve fucked each other over, I’m pretty sure I’d leave stuff off. It’s great that Dawn’s been lucky enough to only have so much bad that she can focus on it hard and heavy, but please tell your girlfriend to get the fuck over it.”

Yeah, he knew there would have been a better way to say all that, but he wasn’t gonna take the time to figure out how. Sam’s angry huff was pretty predictable. “You’ve seen the way she goes through guys. You’re just another notch on her bedpost, man.”

Oh, no. That wasn’t going work. Not with Number One. “Sammy,” he warned, keeping is tone calm and even. “I’m not taking that shit from you. Send Dawnie down if you wanna give me a lecture on safe sex, but I’m not listening to the guy who fucked a demon.” He took a long breath. “And yeah. I know Faith’s been promiscuous, but who the fuck am I to judge? Pretty sure we both know I ain’t got no purity ring. Besides, practice makes perfect and I’m guessing Dawnie isn’t your wildest ride.”

“Dammit, Dean, are you looking for a fight?” Sam roared.

“No.” He sighed and put his mouth in check. “Sorry. I like Dawn, I really do. And I like that you finally manned up and made a move.” He started giggling. “And I _love_ the whole deal with the panty snatching.” He started laughing harder. “God, I wish I had been here.”

“Shut it,” Sam snapped, the edge in his voice considerably dulled.

“And then Spike…” Dean felt tears falling down his cheeks. A stitch in his side brought him back from hysterics. “Wooo,” he said as he caught his breath.

“You done?” Sam was now just his usual pissed.

“For the moment.”

“Faith literally blocked me from coming to talk to you earlier. She basically threatened me with bodily harm. What’s up with that?”

She was looking out for him. After everything they’d been through—the showdown in St. Louis and the heavy emotional exchanges—he’d been too exhausted to chat. She was just protecting her Ducky. Ducky would’ve done the same for his Miss Kitty. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Guess she figured since I missed hitting her with a second orgasm I was too tired to talk.”

“Thanks for the TMI,” Sam said dryly. “Just want to make sure she’s not getting in your head about me and Dawnie.”

“Dude, she and I don’t give a shit if you’re diddling Little D. Stop looking around trying to find signs that Faith is some kinda secret manipulative bitch. All her bitch is pretty much right there in the open for public consumption.” Dean smirked at that last part. Who hadn’t she fired with a snarky little piece of her mind?

“Whatever,” Sam said, seeming to give up on the argument for now. Dean figured it would come up again at some untimely and annoying point. “You wanted to talk to me in the car.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, remembering. “I’m feeling pretty solid on it because Faith mentioned it too. Willow called Lucifer ‘Michael’ last night.”

“Michael? As in the Michael that we know is trapped in a cage in Hell?”

“Bingo. Which makes me think that Willow isn’t the evil, crazy bitch we thought. I think he’s brainwashing her into thinking we’re the bad guys.”

Sam made a noise. “Huh, that kinda goes with what Buffy and Spike said about their run-ins, too.”

“For some reason, I swear it sounds like he’s making me the real bad guy. Like I’m Satan’s little human bitch or something.”

“Really?” There was a hint of bemusement in his tone.

“She kept pleading to Faith to come with her and do the right thing. Even that night when she came, it makes more sense that she didn’t attack me. She wanted to take Faith away then, too.” He stopped and replayed Lucifer’s words from last night. “Yeah, I think I’m on something. He kept making remarks about how Faith could do better. Even called her his _angel_. Fucking motherfucking motherfucker.”

“Yeah. Focus.” Sam folded his arms. “So, that’s the working theory, right? If she thinks _we’re _the bad guys and that Lucifer is actually Michael, she’s going to undermine everything we do to keep the Hellmouth from opening.”

“Basically.” Dean didn’t know how this new theory actually helped fix the problem though.

“So, if she thinks we’re all brainwashed by you and the devil, what if we can get Cas to touch her? Show her mind what reality looks like.”

Dean considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “Pretty sure the two of them are a traveling duo right now. Lucifer would explode Cas into a pile of bloody bits. Way too dangerous to send him popping up to Willow’s side, even if he gets a firm track on them.”

Sam sighed. “Sounds about right.” A pause. “I guess we better call in another team meeting.”

Dean grunted. “You realize this place has turned into the fucking Marriott? First it was Rosalie, Hunter, Spike and Buffy. Fine. Mom brought home Dawn. Then Giles shows up and shit got apparently _really_ weird. Spike and B were weird because the vampires and the random public sex and bloody cups and bowls everywhere. Rose was weird because you suddenly got a job and Dawn was weird because you suddenly got a crush. Nick really was the least weird, at least until he decided to open a bar with a muppet reject demon.” He paused. “And then again with the weirdness of Giles. I mean I know we are all adults here and she totally upgraded from fucking Ketch, but come on? We have a right to be a little wigged about our mom banging the old librarian, right?”

“Definitely,” Sam agreed with a firm nod. “And I’m not sure it’s just our dysfunctional family. Dawn was pretty freaked, too. I think it’s just a thing with kids and their parents’ personal lives. Probably pretty normal.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s freaked because she realizes she may be screwing her future step-brother.”

“Gross,” Sam said as Dean chuckled at his joke. If it was uncomfortable for him, he’d make damn sure it was worse for his little brother. “I’m gonna go tell everybody to meet in an hour.”

“Save me a seat.” Dean went back to the closet to find a shirt to wear as Sam walked out. He rummaged for a minute before finding a Led Zeppelin tee he hadn’t worn in a while. “You can stop with the lurking there, Miss Kitty. I saw you creep past the door a few minutes ago,” he called over his shoulder.

“I was trying to give you privacy.”

“That why you stuck around out of sight?” he teased, slipping the shirt on before turning around.

“You can’t prove anything.”

“No.” He flashed her a knowing smile. “I can’t. But you will.” Dean walked over to his dresser. Damn, he was getting down to his lamer boxers. Definitely laundry day.

“So, that why you got all white knight defending my honor?”

“Told ya,” he quipped as he spun around. “Ducky for the win!” He spun his shamrock boxers in victory.

“Shut it, Lucky Charms, and answer the question.” Faith folded her arms and gave him a look saying there was a right answer to the question.

“I meant everything I said. From the shit about you and Dawn to the shit about you and your other partners. I did refrain from announcing my official title as Number One. And apologized for less than awesome service in the bedroom. So be a lamb and shut the door. I’m taking my pants off now.”

She took a few steps back, keeping her eyes on him even as she fumbled for the door and closed it. He cocked his head and gave her smirk. “You missing me already?”

“I don’t turn down a free flashing.” She nodded to his crotch. “Now drop ‘em.”

Tugging his flannel bottoms down to his ankles, he gave a little wiggle of his hips. “Can I put my underwear on or do I need to do a dance first?”

“Dance. Most definitely a dance. With lots of moving and shaking.”

“You realize we got less than an hour, right?”

“Then you better start busting a move. The longer you stand there, the less chance for you getting off after you gimme that orgasm you jipped me out of. We are working at a two for one exchange rate. So I need three before you get to come again.”

She drove a hard bargain. Fuck, he wouldn’t do to keep that sparkle in her eyes forever. Currently he guessed he was gonna give her a naked dance.

*~*~*

Sam was grateful that Dawn was just as technologically inclined as him. She’d had no problem setting up Skype feeds with the governor in California and the Potter group in LA. That had saved him a world of time as he combed the bunker to tell everyone about the meeting. He wondered how big the cow Dean would have was gonna be when he realized the group had expanded.

“Governor’s in a meeting and has us on mute. I can hear him and he sounds pretty smart actually,” Dawn informed him when he came and sat beside her. “Do you know what subsidiaries for non-GMO based reusable byproduct extraction means?”

Sam wrinkled his brow. “Not entirely.”

“Me neither and I went to grad school. So, I’m banking on the fact that Willow fell for his brains and his good looks.”

“Wow. Seriously?” He laughed lightly at her blatant ogling guys in front of him.

“Look at him, Sammy, and tell me you can’t say he’s not pretty cute. Obviously not _my _guy kinda hot, but totally a Willow approved selection.”

Sam glanced at the screen and shrugged. “He’s not ugly. Not exactly my type.”

“Good,” Dawn said, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. “That was a test.”

“A test.” He scoffed. “A test of what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Dawn teased before leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

He’d just slipped his tongue in her mouth when he heard, “I’d really like to know. What’s there to know?”

Dawn groaned, pulling back slowly after giving Sam’s lip a little nip with her teeth. “Hey, Xander. Yeah, I’m totally in the mood to chitchat instead of sit here kissing Sam. Cool.”

Xander didn’t look a bit sorry. In fact, he looked pretty damn pleased with himself. “So, back to what I want to know.”

Giles—who Sam noted had arrived with Xander and his girlfriend Anya—walked over to look over at the camera feeds before them. “I would prefer to know nothing about it, thank you.”

“And I am completely ambivalent about it. Honestly, I don’t care unless you were making out because you stopped the apocalypse,” Anya announced before turning to her boyfriend. “As Xander can attest, the only orgasms I care to ever watch or talk about are my own or the ones I bring to other people. Like Xander.”

Xander at least looked slightly mortified. This made Sam feel completely off the hook for being caught just kissing.

“Well, now the awkward shifted to me,” Xander said flatly.

Sam felt Giles lay a hand on his shoulder and give a little squeeze as he placed himself in the chair beside him. “They get easier to handle over time,” he said quietly. “You never fully get used to it, but time makes it easier to ignore.”

What Sam really wanted to ignore was how much better Giles’s mood was today from yesterday morning. While Mom and he had had a very late night of research, they were both pretty perky this morning. They’d been sharing a book, sipping coffee and sitting side by side on a sofa in the library when he’d found them. God, they’d probably had sex this morning. Sam and Dawn hadn’t even had sex since they’d gotten back, both way too wiped after checking in, checking on their siblings and going to sleep after a long bout of pillow talk concerning how much they didn’t like the situation.

“Hey,” Cordelia called, poking her head into the room. “You guys wanna come give me a hand? Might make it go easier if I’m with someone who knows where shit goes around this place.”

Sam gave Giles a nod before standing. Dawn and Xander followed suit.

Quickly, they were in the garage where Wright was standing by an unknown SUV. “‘Bout time,” he drawled, his hand resting near the back of the vehicle. He pushed himself up from leaning on the car. “In typical Kelly fashion, she cleared the shelves.”

Zack Morris came around the side holding a massive amount of Walmart bags. “I had to ride for over an hour with five gallons of blood in my lap. Hungry or not, that’s vampire torture.”

“We may or may not need to go find another fridge,” Cordy explained. “She kinda went crazy on the groceries. She bought enough shit to feed a small army.”

“It _is _a small army.”

Sam smiled as he recognized the voice. He hadn’t seen her in months. While Buffy was awesome, Kelly Morris was hands down the sweetest, kindest vampire with a soul he figured existed. Ever.

“Besides the usual chips and cookies and cereal and milk and toilet paper and dish soap and detergent and trash bags and feminine hygiene products for the living ladies and a couple extra shampoos and toothpastes, we still needed actual food. I got enough to make spaghetti and roast and my tuna noodle casserole that both Rosies like. Figure it’ll do us a day or two between the ramen noodles, sandwiches, frozen pizzas and cans of soup.”

Jesus Christ, Kelly just moved up to saint status. The idea of an honest-to-God home cooked meal made him go slightly weak in the knees. He and Dean had almost wet themselves the couple times Dawn fixed Hamburger Helper.

“Sam!” In a flash, Kelly came flying into view with her superhuman speed and grasped him in a hug. He felt his feet leave the ground as she pulled him so tight he thought a rib might crack. “Gosh, I’ve missed you! How’s Dean?”

“Ugh…” He grunted through the pain. She seemed to remember herself and eased the intensity of the hug to normal girl status. “Missed you too,” he wheezed.

She pulled back, beaming. “You can pick what I make first. Might be late in the day to get the roasts on, but spaghetti or casserole I can whip up. I got bread and salads for both of them.”

“Spaghetti,” Dawn answered for him. “Spaghetti always beats tuna.”

“I dunno,” Wright said as he opened the back seat and pulled out a three foot tall package of toilet paper. “That casserole is pretty fucking awesome.” He passed the bulky item to his wife before digging back in.

“Oh, there’s water and sodas and a few cases of beer in there, too.”

“We left a case of Coke and a sack of Doritos in the parking lot because we ran out of space,” Zack said dryly. “I got a cramp from sharing the floorboard with a case of water. It’s fucking water. Grab a cup and find a faucet.”

“Rosalie and Cordy don’t like the taste of tap.”

“I’m from Sunnydale and Los Angeles. Nobody fucking drinks the public water,” Cordelia said defensively. “Bet you didn’t either before you turned, Mr. Definition of a Rich Brat Who Was A Douchey Surfer Guy.”

“Morris,” Zack quipped with a smile. “Zack Morris is a way shorter way to say that, Cords.”

“Yeah, it was pretty awkward being one of the poorest kids at Bayside,” Kelly admitted. “Thankfully Zack and Lisa and our close friends never cared about that.”

Zack stepped over and leaned in to give her a soft kiss on the lips. “Let’s be honest, Kel. I was a grade A-asshole. Probably wouldn’t have noticed you if I hadn’t gotten a crush the first day of kindergarten. I was the spoiled little country club bully in all those 80s comedies. Ferris Bueller was my idol.” He sighed and lifted his bag-laden arms. “My, have the mighty have fallen. Old me would be very disappointed in how few millions I’ve made this late in life. I was figuring at least five by this age.”

“I speak for the crowd by saying we prefer the douche who didn’t take over the company Daddy made from an evil contract with Wolfram and Hart,” Wright grunted as he hoisted up a stack of sodas and beer that went up to his chin. “Pantry. Now.” He took off walking inside.

“Yes,” Zack said as he followed his brother. “But I’d have a yacht. And someone to carry in the groceries.”

Sam smiled as the two guys moved inside. He’d always longed for a big family. Years growing up with just Dean and his dad had been lonely and painful. Watching the way everybody just blended together—even Xander was chatting with Dawn and Kelly as he grabbed bags of groceries—made him feel like his childhood wish had finally been granted.

“Hey there, big guy,” Cordelia called to him. “Get your giant ass over here and start hauling. You aren’t off the hook just because you’re my girl’s watcher.”

Sam gave a soft chuckle as he walked over to the SUV. Yeah, it was definitely a dysfunctional family, but it still counted.

*~*~*

Dean was out of breath as he sprinted behind Faith to the meeting room. He’d given her three, but it only worked because she’d slipped her pants off and started fingering herself while he’d danced.

As they burst into the room like kids late to class, he wondered if he had pussy breath. He’d sucked her clit to get orgasm one. A quick look at Spike confirmed they reeked of sex. “Heh,” he nodded in greeting to his buddy with a smirk.

“Glad you could make it,” Buffy teased.

“Yeah, sorry, B.” Faith sounded a little breathy as she spoke, much to Dean’s pleasure. They hadn’t had time to really come down from the finale before scrambling to get dressed. “Had to settle a little issue from yesterday.”

Buffy and Spike gave matching smug smiles and nods. Dean quietly held up three fingers as he stood behind Faith’s back. He lowered his hand before she turned around to see what the vampires were snickering about, but couldn’t wipe the cocky grin from his face in time.

“Don’t make me call in a dare now,” she warned in a low voice. “Just gimme a reason, buddy.”

Yeah, that brought him down a few pegs. He wasn’t prepared to bust out his Britney Spears until he had a lot more beer in him. “So, where we at?” He looked up at the gathering and realized there were a shit-ton more bodies here than before. “And what the actual fuck, ya’ll? When did this turn into the Kansas branch of the Hyperion Hotel?”

“Sometime yesterday afternoon,” Dawn said. “You know most everybody. The two introductions you need are Xander and Anya. Anya is a former vengeance demon who is fully human, somehow attracted to Xander and has less of a filter on her mouth than me.”

“Filter?” Anya said in confusion. “I don’t have any filter.”

“Exactly,” Dawn responded. “And Xander here is Willow’s oldest friend, an OG member of the Scooby gang and another member of the Faith Fucked Franchise.”

“Hi,” Xander said awkwardly, waving what looked an awful lot like a donut in his hand.

Dean was distracted immediately by the knowledge there were donuts somewhere in the vicinity. His eyes narrowed toward the man, focusing on the object in his hand like a dog with a ball. If Dawn thought he gave two flying fucks about how many of Faith’s former lovers were in the room—four apparently—she’d be disappointed. His mind was much more concerned with Xander’s donut.

Until the guy took a big bite and squirted red jelly all over his face and shirt.

“Really?” Dean giggled as he gave Faith an amused look. “You really don’t have a specific type, do you?” As he thought about where this putz ranked against Cas, he started fighting to suppress an outright laugh.

Anya spoke up. “Xander says Faith took his virginity. He told me it was very forceful and awkward.”

Dean lost his shit at that. How was he supposed to keep it together with that little beautiful nugget of funny? He cackled so hard he had to brace his hands on his knees to keep from falling over.

“In his defense,” he heard Wright say to the others, “I’m reacting like that on the inside.”

“It’s all right, mate,” Hunter said as he gave Xander a pat on the back. “You took a big risk having her punch your V-card. She is quite…” His voice tittered slightly. “Forceful.”

Oh god, he was gonna pass out. Dean didn’t have enough oxygen to sustain this much laughter.

“Bloody hell,” Giles grumbled. “We’ve got live feeds in two locations. Somebody get him under control.”

“I got it,” Sam said at once. “Hey, Dean! Shut up and grab a donut!” His brother hoisted a box in the air. “Kelly brought them fresh.”

Fuck him or bless him, Dean didn’t know which, but it worked. “Wooo,” he said as he finally calmed down and caught his breath. “All jelly or a variety?”

“You fucking dumbass,” Faith muttered under her breath before stepping over to Sam and snatching two pastries from the box. She turned and walked back to Dean, trying damn hard to give him the stink eye. When she handed him a donut, he knew he hadn’t pissed her off too bad.

“Okay,” a voice Dean recognized as Harry’s cut through the air, presumably from one of the laptops in front of Sam and Giles. “Can we begin?”

“Yeah, I’m in my actual office right now,” the governor announced over the speaker. “I’ve got ten more minutes before I’m supposed to oversee a meeting with the Congressional Agricultural Committee. Sorry, I’m kinda living a double life.”

Sam nodded at the screen before turning a dry look to his brother. “You good?”

Dean shrugged and took a bite of sugary goodness. Bear claw. “Mmmm. For the moment.”

“Okay,” Sam said as he turned back to the laptops. “Let’s get started.”


	46. Chapter 46

“So here’s what we know,” Buffy said before anyone else could jump in, realizing belatedly she’d assumed the lead out of habit. She glanced to the others a bit self-consciously, then shook it off and went with it. “Willow was in two places last night—Roswell and St. Louis. She was with Lucifer both times.”

Sam Seaborn released a trembling sigh, the look on his face somewhat desolate. “And there’s no chance she was with him as a hostage or a victim. Willow wouldn’t—”

“We think Willow might not know he’s the devil,” Sam Winchester offered, glancing to Buffy. “That’s the working theory, at least.”

“Right.” Buffy nodded. “She called him Michael last night with us.”

“And again with us,” Faith said. Dean had a mouthful of donut and just nodded his assent.

“Blimey,” came a voice from over the speakers. “I didn’t get a good look at her before. Faith?”

Faith peered around Sam to appraise the computer screen, then waved at the befuddled faces staring back at her. “Wizards,” she acknowledged before looking to the governor. “And…you.”

“Sam Seaborn,” the governor replied. “I’m sorry, I… I am pressed for time so forgive me for being blunt, but I thought you died.”

“She did,” Harry agreed. “I was there. I saw it. Bloody hell, she tried to take my wand to stake a bloke.”

“You did?” Dean asked, giving Faith one of those wide-eyed looks that told Buffy just how smitten he was. If the heavy scent of sex that clouded them wasn’t indicator enough. “You tried to slay a vamp with Harry Potter’s wand? Goddamn, you’re awesome.”

Dawn coughed loudly. Sam put an arm around her but kept his eyes on the screens.

Faith shrugged. “I asked him for his wand. He said he needed it. Then all hell broke loose and I figured he could do more damage with it than I could.”

“There’s a bet I’d like to take,” Dean said with a smirk.

“Might we focus on the matter at hand,” Giles suggested.

“And a little less with the Faith worship,” Cordelia muttered. Then she brought her hands up. “No judgments,” she said when Faith arched an eyebrow, “but this isn’t all about how cool you are.”

“Thanks, C. Means a lot.” Faith turned to the computers. “Dunno how much this matters, but yeah. I went up and some guy Dean here claims was God himself sent me back because, that’s a thing that apparently happens.”

“Oh, wait!” Sam Seaborn said, clapping. “I _do _remember now. Yes, I was told you were brought back. Sorry, with everything that’s happened I… Ahh, well, it slipped my mind.”

“God sends someone back to Earth and that _slips your mind_?” Rosalie blurted. “Gonna tell you, that’s the kind of oversight that would cost you my vote. Were I still a California resident and, you know, _registered _to vote.”

Seaborn blinked at her dully. “You’re not registered to vote? Mr. Wright, surely you did impress upon your daughter the importance of fulfilling her civic duty.”

“Yeah, right between teaching her how to clean her crossbow and the proper way to kill a Fyral demon,” Wright muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Buffy elbowed Spike. “Do it,” she muttered, and closed her hands around her ears.

He placed his fingers in his mouth and released one of those ear-splitting whistles. While everyone flinched, Zack and Kelly gave them both reproachful looks.

“A little warning next time,” Kelly said, patting her ears.

“Right,” Sam Winchester said, clearing his throat. He looked back to Buffy. “Roswell. Can you…”

Buffy nodded. “Lucifer said he expected Dean and Faith to hit Roswell. He…actually went on about Faith quite a lot.” She looked to her sister slayer, wrinkling her nose. “I think the devil has a crush on you.”

Faith shuddered, missing the shadow that fell over Dean’s face. “Yeah, he’s been…handsy the couple times we’ve crossed paths.”

“Yeah, and I bet you just hate that,” Dawn muttered.

At this, the rest of the humor that had seen Dean so buoyant seemed to drain altogether. He shot his brother a dark look that went ignored. Faith nudged his shoulder and, when he turned his attention to her, she gave a minute shake of her head.

“I tried to talk to Will,” Buffy said, refocusing on the screens. “Whatever the devil did had me in a place where I couldn’t move. He didn’t say much of value, beyond going on about Faith. Then he set Spike on fire and…” At this, she swallowed and looked away, unsure she’d ever stop seeing the burnt, broken thing he’d been after the flames had gone out. “The ring is the only reason he’s still here but more of that and he would’ve…”

“So the rings aren’t good against the devil.” Zack looked to Kelly, the concern there undeniable.

“Wait,” Sam Seaborn said, waving a hand. “Willow stood there while this guy lit your _husband _on fire and did nothing? No, I don’t believe that. She would have reacted. Tried to stop—”

“She did,” Buffy rushed to assure him. “In fact, the only reason Spike is here is because Willow threw some mega-strong magic at Lucifer. Threw him into a wall and weakened him pretty good.”

Heartbreaking hope broke across Sam’s face. “Then…then she must have realized he was—”

“No.” Buffy shook her head, swallowing hard. “I…ahhh… After I saw Spike was going to be all right, I kind of…attacked the devil. Chewed through a good part of his throat”—she ignored the winces she received from the humans in the room—“and might have done some actual damage but Willow aimed a chunk of magic at _me _and sent me into a wall hard enough to bleed. The second the blood hit the ground, it turned bright orange, which apparently wasn’t the reaction they were looking for. Willow told me that Lucifer was an angel and that she’d explain everything to me when she could. Then she did that…popping thing.”

“Apparated,” Harry said, his vivid green eyes heavy. “But she was certain she was doing right. That’s promising at least.”

“I don’t find it promising at all,” the governor said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “God, he’s going to make her do something terrible. She… Buffy, she won’t be able to handle it. Anything she’s doing right now, she’s doing because she thinks it will make everything all right. Everything from what happened in Europe ten years ago.”

Buffy figured now wasn’t the time to get into how exactly Sam Seaborn knew this, though the certainty in his voice had her somewhat shaken.

“I… Hold on. I’m going to postpone my meeting.” The governor stood and walked off-frame.

Yeah, she was pretty sure more than ten minutes had passed already.

He returned in a hurry. “Well, I’ll have some political ass-kissing to do, but I just bought myself an hour. What else happened in Roswell?”

Buffy glanced to Spike. “Nothing. After Willow took off with the person she said was Michael, I got Spike into our car and the hell out of there. Stopped just long enough to give him a pick-me-up—”

“Only bloody reason we’re here,” Spike muttered, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at Zack. “She was behind the wheel.”

Zack’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god. That’s scarier than the devil.”

“Hey!”

Kelly shook her head, giving Spike a look of profound respect. “I am so, so sorry. Are you all right?”

Spike sighed and put a hand over his heart. “It’ll take a minute, but with time, I’ll heal.”

“Oi, wankers!” Harry snapped. “This seem like the time to crack jokes? The bloody governor just postponed what I can only assume is state business. Stick to the topic or I’ll send my wife down there to jinx the lot of you. And believe me, if you’d ever seen her wield a Bat-Bogey Hex, you’d be pissing your knickers. Can we please move on?”

Zack and Kelly looked somewhat chastised. Spike just smirked, unrepentant.

“Spike made Harry Potter mad,” Dean whispered loudly to Faith.

Sam also looked irritated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Buffy wanted to say something—like apologize for having mated a moron, but knew that would just digress further and her part was done. So she held up her hands. “That’s it. We drove until we got here.” She glanced to Faith and Dean. “You’re up.”

*~*~*

Great. Now everyone would have a reason to look at her. She just hoped Dean did his fair share of the talking too, but figured since it had already been established that the devil had a _thing _for her, she’d bear the brunt of the attention.

“Right,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Dean and I were in St. Louis. Trip was a bust, except we found a stash of weapons.”

“Had to leave them behind,” Dean said, looking at his brother. “But if we ever need to restock, we know where to find ‘em.”

“We were gonna load out when Lucifer and Big Red popped in. He didn’t look all that chewed up, so he musta done that angel healing thing.”

Dean nodded. “Didn’t seem too happy with the witch, either.” He tightened his jaw. “And only had eyes for Faith. Knocked my bones around a bit.”

Yeah, and he hadn’t said a damn thing about that for seven goddamn hours. Faith knew they were allegedly past this, but it still pissed her off. Something she gathered Dean knew, for the somewhat timid look he threw her.

Faith worked her throat and forced her gaze back to the computers. “He threw Du—Dean into a wall and pulled the same freeze-frame bullshit on me. Lucifer said a bunch of shit…” She released a long breath, looking to Buffy. “He really didn’t hit on you?”

She didn’t mean for that to come out as desperate as it did, but damn, this was enough to give a girl a complex. That Crowley asshole had been one thing—a creeper, sure, but no different than the barflies she’d been waving off her whole damn life. Lucifer was in a class of his own, the way he looked at her. The dead certainty in his eyes and voice when talking about his plans for her—for _them_. Crowley she could see hitting on anything that moved, that his comments hadn’t been necessarily personal. Not like Lucifer’s had been.

Dean must have sensed this, for he gave her ass a little pat.

Buffy favored her with a pitying look. “Umm… I won’t say _sorry _because so, so not. But…”

“So a supervillain is interested in Faith,” Dawn deadpanned, glancing around the room. “By a show of hands, who in here is shocked?”

This time Faith had to bite the inside of her cheek. Not because Dawn was being a brat, but at the sea of unsurprised faces that surrounded her, all seemingly doing their best to keep from looking at her directly. Well, most of them. Nick looked sympathetic and concerned, Rosalie the same. Kelly, who had never forgiven her for what she’d done to distract her soulless husband, glared rather unrepentantly. Not even B could object.

Her eyes stung and she directed her gaze to the floor, not sure if she was upset with them or with herself for caring enough that this hurt.

“That’s bullshit,” Dean barked. “Lucifer’s a fucking psychopath with daddy issues. He learned that Chuck sent Faith back so yeah, of course he’s gonna be a pervy dick about it. ’Cause if she caught Chuck’s eye, that means Chuck has plans for her. And Lucifer loves nothing more than fucking those plans up.” He paused, then added with a glare, “Oh, and you all suck.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Dean—”

“Sammy, this ain’t the time.”

“Boys,” Mary snapped, and that seemed to be the end of it.

Faith glanced at Dean from the corner of her eye, and fought a grin when he nodded as though punctuating his statement. Fuck, if they were alone, she might have done something like hug him. And even though they both seemed to have recognized that things had changed between them, she wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with a version of herself that went around handing out hugs.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” the governor said. “I just… I don’t know you so I can’t make a judgment call.”

Harry waved. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure whether this was a question for everyone or just you lot that know each other.”

“Fuckers,” Dean muttered, though only so the people directly around him could hear.

“Anyway,” Faith said, “he… He said some shit about having given Crowley bad info, told Big Red to do her spell—made a big show about screaming that Crowley was the King of Hell. Guess that was for Will’s benefit. Pricked my finger and squeezed a drop of blood out. It lit up gold on the floor.” She swallowed, her mind tracking through what had happened next. How Lucifer had stroked her arm before making a move to grab her ass. This she didn’t want to say—didn’t want to give Dawn more fuel. “Dean cut himself up and blasted him away.”

“Sigil,” he muttered. “I’d teach you how, but you best be keepin’ your blood on the inside.”

“Next apocalypse.”

“Gotta love your optimism, babe.”

Faith smirked at him, and was somewhat heartened when he winked. “Will tried to get me to go with her. According to Dean, this is the second time. Was kinda passed out the first. The things she said back up what B said—that she thinks she’s the good guy and Dean’s the bad guy. And yeah, she called Lucifer _Michael_. She coulda blasted me outta the way to get to Dean but didn’t. Seems like she’s tryin’ hard not to kill anyone.”

“But that doesn’t explain why something like _setting Spike on fire _wouldn’t trigger her bullshit meter,” Wright said. “So Dean’s evil. What the hell does that have to do with her best friend?”

“Thanks, man,” Dean said.

“Well, obviously, we were working with Dean,” Buffy said, motioning to Spike. “All at these Men of Letters houses. But yeah, the things Lucifer was saying to me, to Spike… It didn’t sound very angelic.”

Sam huffed. “That doesn’t mean much. Most angels are assholes.”

“Hear bloody hear,” Giles muttered.

The governor frowned. “Well, that’s certainly disappointing to hear.”

“But would _Willow _know that?” Buffy shot back. “My money’s on no. The only angel she’s met is Cas and Cas isn’t an asshole.”

“Thank you, Buffy,” Castiel said from right behind her, making her jump.

She was in mid-swing—instinctive, probably—before Spike caught her fist. “Ah, ah, ah, love,” he said, clearly amused. “Reckon this bloke already has enough holes in him, yeah?”

Giles hissed out a breath. “No such thing.”

“So Willow thinks she’s acting on behalf of an angel called Michael,” Harry said. “Is this Michael bloke even real? Do we know him? Could he help?”

“No,” Dean and Sam said in unison before exchanging sour looks.

“No?” Harry repeated, a bit dejected. “No discussion or anything?”

“Michael’s not where he can be reached,” Sam said. “And there’s no telling if he’d actually help if he was. Insofar as this thing with Lucifer is concerned, he’s just an identity the devil assumed.”

“Is there any reason Lucifer would attempt to convince Willow that Dean is evil?” Zack asked. “I mean, aside from playing the good guy schtick. That seems a bit…specific.”

“Lucie and I ain’t exactly pals,” Dean drawled. “And yeah. He wants Faith. Faith and me have been hunting together since she came back, and she ain’t gonna go anywhere without a fight from both of us. Lucie knows I know his meat-suit and could blow the whole thing if the bitch would slow down long enough to let us talk some goddamn sense into her.”

“Watch it,” the governor said, his otherwise pleasant expression now set into a cold glare. “That’s the mother of my child.”

“Well, the mother of your child shot Faith through a fucking tour bus then rolled the goddamn thing like it was a Hot Wheel. She might be twisted upstairs, but she knew that could kill her.”

“Stop,” Faith said, seizing Dean’s wrist. This could get out of hand in a big way if they weren’t careful—especially with everyone already on edge and tempers running high. “Will thinks she’s the good guy here, and good guys tend to not draw blood unless they think there’s no other option, right? So we can assume she thought I was a bad guy.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like there’s not a precedent for that or anything,” Dawn said, crossing her arms.

“Dawn, drop it,” Buffy snapped. “I’m grounding all grudges until the apocalypse is averted.”

“And here we go with Buffy’s god complex,” Anya muttered.

“Oi,” Spike barked, “the Slayer happens to be right, unless the lot of you fancy takin’ a tour of the bloody underworld. Been through this a time or two, haven’t we? So yeah, Nibblet, put a bloody sock in it for now, savvy?”

“Don’t yell at her,” Sam said.

Spike blinked, his expression incredulous. “You really wanna tangle with me again, Winchester? I know how easily you bruise.”

“Guys!” Rosalie clapped. “As the active slayer, I am seconding the suspension of all petty grudges. This isn’t going to help anyone.” She looked to Faith, then to Dawn. “You can go back to being catty once the world is saved.”

“Rosalie,” Sam said in his best Watcher voice, “you don’t get to call the shots.”

“And neither do you,” Rosalie retorted, crossing her arms. “But please, feel free to tell me how making a bunch of snide comments about one of the only people in the world who can close the Hellmouth is a good idea.”

“No one’s closing anything,” Dean said, “’cause no one’s _opening _anything. That’s what this meeting’s about, right?”

“It’s about Willow,” Sam Seaborn insisted. “Finding Willow and bringing her home.”

“And if that can’t happen?” Dean replied. “If we can’t get through to her? What then? We just let her open the mouth to freakin’ _Hell _because of a misunderstanding? Sorry, but I will not let her get that far.”

The governor shot out of his seat so fast his head went out of the screen, which somewhat diminished the effect of his dramatic response. “We are _not _discussing ending Willow’s life,” he said, leaning menacingly over the camera. “She’s trying to _fix _things.”

“So you’re willing to let Hell open because your baby momma’s screwed up in the head?” Dean snapped back. “You realize the only way to close that motherfucker is for someone in this room to die.”

Faith wrapped her hand around Dean’s upper arm. “Calm down, Ducky,” she murmured into his ear.

He shot her a hard look and shook his head. “Fuck no,” he said, then turned back to the computer. “That ain’t happenin’. Not saying we’re gonna gank her on sight, but if it comes down to her openin’ some portal to Hell or not, that’s my line in the fucking sand.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Sabrina Deanne—you come after Willow and I’ll kill you myself.”

“He does realize this is being recorded, right?” Xander asked Giles. “Just saying, if you wanted to sink a campaign, that’d be the way to go.”

“We’re talking about the woman I love,” Seaborn snapped. “Ask me again if I give a damn about politics while discussing _killing _her.”

“Governor.” Harry was shoved aside and a face Faith had to assume belonged to Hermione Granger popped into view. “As we have discussed ad nauseum, we are in this to help Willow. She’s our friend and we love her.”

“Enough to let the world end?” Dean asked. “’Cause that’s a level of love that’s downright psychotic.”

“Look,” Xander snapped, swinging around to glare at Dean, “I’ve known Willow since we were five. So yeah, you wanna take her out, you gotta go through me.”

Dean looked him up and down, then snickered. “You got some jelly on your shirt there, pansy ass.”

“No one here wants Willow dead,” Buffy said loudly. “This is so far off-topic it’s in its own zip code.”

“But it’s not, though. Not really,” Zack replied, then brought his hands up when Seaborn, Xander, Buffy and Dawn glared at him. “I’m not saying we form a Willow murder party, but we do need to know where the line is. Like Dean said, if she gets close to opening the Hellmouth, that’s either game over or asking Faith to give up her life.”

Rosalie waved her arms. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah,” Faith retorted shortly. “And that’s where you’re gonna stay, kid. We’ve already had this conversation. The vamps, your dad, your watcher and your boyfriend will make damn well sure that if that sucker opens, you’re as far from ground zero as possible.”

“And all I’m saying,” Dean said in a dangerous tone, “is if it’s down to _that _happening or ganking the witch, we gank the witch.”

A loud roar pierced the air before anyone else could start yelling, and the next thing Faith knew, Kelly—little Kelly—had burst into game face and leaped onto the table, her yellow eyes scouring the room in the form of a true predator.

Sam Winchester gasped audibly. “Kelly!”

“This is getting us nowhere!” she snapped, her voice thick around her fangs. “Arguing over who has to die is not why we called this meeting.”

“Damn, you go girl,” Cordelia muttered, giving Kelly a covert thumbs-up.

“Okay, so donut lady has fangs. Things I wish I’d known,” Xander put in.

Zack was staring at his wife like he could throw her down on the table and fuck her right now.

Kelly glared at Dean as though daring him to contradict her, but he looked too startled by the dramatic change to do more than stare. “The way we keep everyone alive is to keep Willow from accessing the Hellmouth, which I understand is some two hundred feet below us, right?”

There was nothing for a moment. Then Sam shook his head and nodded. “Yeah.”

Kelly turned to the screens. “Hermione—there are protection spells you can put on the bunker, right? The kind of firepower that kept Voldemort from Hogwarts.”

“Yes,” Hermione answered.

“But it’s a stall at best,” Harry added, sidling into view beside Hermione. “Voldemort penetrated every protection charm Hogwarts had. We’ll have to be ready to fight.”

“Guessing this means they’re coming here, too,” Mary said, rolling her head back.

“I think we’ll have to,” Hermione said. “Willow’s brand of magic is a bit different from ours, but we should all be able to hold her off, or at the very least slow her down.”

“And there’s the bloody devil to contend with,” Harry said, running a hand through his mess of black hair. “And whoever else he brings with him. As a Wolfram and Hart senior partner, it might be that cemetery all over again. Or worse.”

“Not worse,” Dean said firmly. He didn’t look at Faith but she could feel the intent in his words. “We won’t let it be.”

“No,” Nick agreed softly, and nodded at Dean. “We won’t.”

“If that’s all, I am going to return to work,” Sam Seaborn said tersely, his jaw still tight and his eyes hard. While the conversation of what was to happen if Willow breached the walls and couldn’t be talked down remained dangling, Faith could see the earnestness in the man’s face. He truly would kill anyone who stood between him and the woman he loved, even under circumstances like these. The realization made her both happy for Willow and somewhat confused for herself. “I trust you all to keep me updated.”

He disconnected before anyone could get in another word.

At length, Sam turned back to the remaining screen and released a long breath. “Is there anything else?”

“Umm, yes, actually,” Hermione said, and for the first time, she looked somewhat nervous. “But it’s a private matter. I need to talk with you and your brother.”

Well, that was interesting. After everyone exchanged a round of downright curious glances, Giles cleared his throat and clapped. “All right. Everyone who is not a Winchester, please give us the room.”

“Actually,” Hermione rushed to say, “you might stay too, Rupert. And Mary. This could concern you. Have Kelly hand you the beaded bag I gave her before she left. It should duplicate on your touch and provide you with the library of material we, ahh, confiscated from MACUSA.”

Giles looked mildly bewildered but nodded, and began making his way toward Kelly.

Faith turned to leave, but Dean grabbed her wrist and shook his head. Which surprised her because, well, she was definitely not family. But then she saw Sam doing the same to Dawn and understood. He didn’t want Dawn having information she didn’t. It was considerate, but she still felt a bit awkward and obvious hanging back.

Once the room emptied, it felt almost barren. Sam gave her a look that told her plainly he didn’t approve of her being given family status. Dean pretended not to notice, but the firm line of his jaw said he had.

“I’ve been going back and forth on whether or not to have this conversation with you now or when we arrived,” Hermione said rather sheepishly. “But I think… I think the sooner you know, the better. Rupert, in the beaded bag, there should be a file for Sabrina Deanne. Can you find it?”

It took a few minutes, and Mary slipping almost entirely into the suitcase-sized back with Giles holding her around the waist, but she emerged, out of breath, clutching a leather carrier.

“Sabrina Deanne is a MACUSA witch from the Auror Department,” Hermione said, her voice somewhat higher. “She was initially assigned to Obliviate the memories of all Muggles associated with you lot, including Sam and Dean.”

“What does that mean?” Mary asked sharply.

“Erase our memories,” Sam said. “Of…what?”

“Of everything,” Harry intoned. “All knowledge of the magical world, the demonic world—a complete bloody reset.”

“Death sentence,” Dean said tersely. “In other words.”

“Yes, well, she didn’t know that at the time,” Hermione replied. “And we were able to Obliviate _her_ before she acted—modify her memory so she thought she had done her job and Mr. Wright, Ms. Chase, and everyone present at the Hyperion at the time were back to… Well, just _back_. But something happened. She ran into Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”

For some reason, the name hit Faith like a sucker-punch. Not that she didn’t think it several times a day or anything—it was hard not to—and she’d been prepared for Wes to be a topic of discussion when Wright and the others arrived. But not like this—referenced by virtual strangers.

“We don’t know the particulars,” Harry continued, “except it seems he requested that she modify his memories, upon learning who she was and what she was there to do. So he could…forget what he’d done to Faith. And Rosalie. He didn’t want to live with it.”

At this, Faith inhaled sharply, felt her jaw go tight and anger pulsed bright hot through her. “Well, how fucking nice for him,” she snapped, her mind flooding now with the image of Wesley in tears, attempting fruitlessly to tug the bracelet off her wrist in that cemetery. Telling her how he felt, how she made him feel. And the utter emptiness that had consumed her in turn. “So I go up in smoke, he nearly gets Ro killed, but it’s okay because Wes gets to clock out. Forget that he’s the reason… Goddamn that asshole.”

“Whatever else, the request seemed to… Let’s just say, Sabrina began doubting everything she’d heard of Muggles from MACUSA. She learned she hadn’t succeeded in Obliviating anyone but also seemed to realize that fulfilling that order would have come at the expense of your lives. She had no idea Muggle demon hunters existed,” Hermione said quickly. “She ended up reaching out to us and… This is a long way around what I’m trying to say. She helped us acquire files from MACUSA regarding their relationship with Wolfram and Hart. We also took her personnel file to see what MACUSA might have on her, so we could best keep her protected if they discovered she had gone rogue. And… Rupert, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Giles frowned and fumbled with the file. He flipped through a few pages, then paused, his eyes going wide.

“Oh,” he said. That was all he said.

“What?” Sam and Dean echoed.

“I…”

But Dean grabbed the file before he could let that dangle much longer, and hunkered near Sam. Faith watched as the color drained from both of their faces and their jaws went slack. And it seemed like someone froze them there—just staring at the file.

Mary turned to Giles. “Rupert…?”

“It…ahh, seems that your late husband…”

“We have a sister?” Dean croaked at last, his eyes somewhat glassy. “I… A sister? Who works for…” He turned to Faith, his expression unreadable. “I…”

“We haven’t been able to reach her,” Hermione continued, her voice at a higher pitch. “The second I read that, I tried to phone to her, but she isn’t answering her mobile and, from what Percy says, she hasn’t been in to work. We think…” She glanced at Faith, a bit pink. “We think she developed a romantic connection with Wesley. That she might have sought him out after discovering the truth of her parentage. She helped him flee the city. They had apparently gotten close since she Obliviated him, and from what she told us and the rest that we were able to infer, well…”

And that was it. That was all Faith could hear before what was being said finally cracked. She barked a laugh—a high, shrill laugh—and shook her head, finding absolutely nothing funny but unable keep from laughing all the same.

So her kinda-ex was doing Dean’s sister. And Dean’s sister worked for the agency that wanted her dead.

“Something funny?” Dawn asked coldly, like they were at a funeral and Faith had shown up topless.

“Yeah,” Faith replied, giggling again. “My fucking life.”

And though she knew she should stay, that Dean would need some help processing the bomb the wizards had just dropped on his life, she also knew she was in no place to be that person at the moment. That and she needed to punch something.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, sounding choked.

“To beat shit up.”

“You can’t go out, babe. Not—”

“I fucking know,” she said, though the reminder grated. These walls would soon feel like a prison. “I’ll be in the training room. Send in Ro if you see her. Tell her that her uncle tried to erase the fact that he fucked her over from his conscience and she’ll probably need to beat some shit up too. Any luck, we’ll knock each other out.”

She felt small and weak, running out like that, but she also knew nothing good would come from her staying there a second longer.

For the moment, she needed time.


	47. Chapter 47

Dean watched her walk out. He got it. The Wes bit was a lot of shit to process. So was the fact he suddenly had a sister. They both needed some time alone to think things through.

“Big surprise,” Dawn drawled. “Faith bailed the second she wasn’t the focus of attention.”

Dean stood up, yanking the file with him. “I like you, Dawn, but I’ve never been so close to slapping a bitch that wasn’t a monster.”

“Hey!” Sam said, jumping out of his chair so fast it knocked over. “Don’t you dare try.” He got right up in his face like he was asking for fight. Maybe Dean needed to hit something, too.

“Boys,” Giles reprimanded, “this accomplishes nothing.” He turned to Dawn. “Please remember you’re an _adult_ and not a petulant child. Keep your tongue in check, if not for yourself, for your sister and me. Please?”

“I know,” Dawn lamented. “I’m sorry.” She threw a glance over her shoulder to both brothers. “Sorry.”

Dean knew this didn’t settle things between him and Sam. No, as long as Dawn kept up her beef with his girlfriend, Dean wasn’t going to let this go. He knew Sam well enough to know he wouldn’t either. Seemed they had landed on opposite sides of a grudge match.

Wait…had he just called Faith his girlfriend? Dude, he was getting a little too forward. Right? They hadn’t even discussed changing the terms of their arrangement. Fuck it—he’d talk to her about that later. Right now he needed out of this room fast. “Shut up and do your job,” he hissed at Sam before raising his voice. “All of you! Stop this fucking thing from opening!” he bellowed, kicking the fallen chair in anger.

When he’d stormed off, he hadn’t had any intention of going to her, but he found himself standing in the doorway of the training room. Faith and Rosalie were posturing like two kick-boxers about to start a round. He’d seen countless versions of this between Rose and Buffy so it really didn’t concern him. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Rosalie growled. “Nobody told me shit about Wes since I got here.”

“Yeah, well welcome to the Mushroom Club. Keep us in the dark and feed us shit, sis,” Faith quipped back.

Dean considered just walking on and taking a mental timeout in his room, but he kinda didn’t want to be alone. At least while he read through the file clutched in his hand.

Faith looked up and cast him a warning look. “Busy now, Winchester.”

He nodded as he stepped inside. “Not looking to interrupt.” He glanced over to a chair in the corner. “Got some reading to do.”

Faith’s gaze softened slightly as she gave him a small nod. Then, she turned her attention back to Rosalie. “Whatcha waiting on, Baby Spice? You learn any shit while I’ve been gone on vacation?”

Rosalie’s eyes narrowed and filled with that fierce slayer Dean was so enamored by. Slayers were the fucking bomb. “Oh, I’ve learned tricks you never taught me.”

“Bring. It. On,” Faith demanded.

Dean unabashedly watched the first couple minutes, longing for a beer and some popcorn. While it seemed Faith still outranked her, Rosalie landed a fair share of kicks and punches the knocked the elder slayer off her feet. The intensity of the match started to wane as both began getting a little winded. A normal human would be dead or dying by this point.

Dean crossed his leg and balanced the file in his lap as he began to read. There it was once again, staring at him and black and white. He, Sam, and even Adam were listed as this girl’s siblings. He stared hard at the picture attached to the report.

It was hard to see much John Winchester in her. Maybe the dark hair. Maybe the dark eyes. File said her mom was ‘Wang’ so that made her…Chinese? Dean was slightly disturbed to realize he thought his sister was hot. Why’d Dad have to go a bang an Asian chick? Not that he blamed him…

“You know what I hate about him?” Rosalie said. “He was always a stuffy know-it-all.”

“God, yes,” Faith agreed. “And that fucking noise he’d make with his throat if you distracted him while he was reading? Get a grip, you dick.”

Dean assumed this was how slayers had therapy sessions. They started sparring each other again, so Dean resumed researching his sister. Twenty-seven. Chicago. That would put him at the age when he’d been watching Sammy solo. They’d passed through Chicago a few times.

Wait. Yeah, he remembered now. He’d spent a month or so in Chicago back in middle school. It’d been a bitch. He had been a little sixth grader that had made the wrong move and flirted with the sister of a particularly obnoxious eighth grader. Fuck, he’d been bullied like hell at that damn school. Dad hadn’t even left them with a chaperone, making Dean responsible for taking care of Sam and himself. When he’d gotten in a fight with that little fucker, he remembered that the school had called Bobby. Bobby and Dad had had a helluva fight after that case was over.

Except it looked like Dad was doing a lot more than working a case. He’d been knocking up a witch. “Fuck him,” he grumbled.

Slayer hearing must have picked up on that because Rosalie repeated him. “Fuck him.” A kick. “Fuck him and his stupid pretentious way he folded his laundry.”

“Fuck him and his stupid, snotty British accent,” Faith added.

“Whoa,” Rosalie said, coming to a stop. “I got me a really cute fella with a British accent.”

“Yeah, well it’s stupid and snotty on him, too.”

“I, uhhh, kinda like it.” Rose paused. “You know…_like it_ like it. I make him talk dirty to me when we’re—”

“Wow,” Faith said, cutting her off. “I was totally the opposite. I made a point of hitting him every time he tried to speak. Granted, most of the time I was closing my eyes and pretending he was someone else.”

“Really?” Rosalie didn’t sound jealous, but intrigued. “Who?”

Faith shrugged, stretching her arms over her head and popping her joints loudly. “I dunno. Depended on the day. Someone hotter and not British. Heath Ledger a lot.”

Well, at least there was no worry of that guy stealing his girl, Dean mused briefly before turning back to the file. He flipped a couple pages and found confirmation of what he’d thought. That month of hell for him had apparently been a month of witchy sex with a Nora Wang. Something about the two of them working to rescue a wizard Auror named Paul Deanne from some rogue witch ganking people.

Deanne. Wonder if old Paul knew Nora had a Winchester bun in the oven when he’d married her? Didn’t say. Also didn’t say if Dad knew he’d gone off knowing he was leaving another kid behind. If it wasn’t bad enough what he’d given him and Sam in fatherly love, he’d gone off and had Adam. It still pissed him off that John had been more of a father to that kid than he’d ever been with him. Baseball games? Vacations? More than just lectures and marching orders. Stuff he would have _loved _to have done with his old man.

His old man who had ran off to go have fucking fling while his twelve year old boy had been scared and struggling to protect and feed and help his little eight year old brother while he was dealing with a new school, bullies, and homework he didn’t understand because he’d never gotten a chance to stay somewhere long enough to fucking learn a thing.

“_Son of a bitch_!” Dean roared, throwing the file as hard as he could. Papers went flying and the cover of the report skidded to a halt somewhere between Faith and Rosalie.

After jumping to his feet, he took off. Damn file could burn for all he cared. Nothing on those papers could fix what John Winchester had done. Congratulations, little sister. Welcome to the fucked up Winchester family.

Dean was heaving by the time he made it to his room, bitter rage consuming him. He turned to slam the door to find Faith standing there, giving him a hard look.

“Just…” He knew she had her own plate of shit. “Just leave me alone.”

“After that little temper tantrum?” She stepped inside and shut the door.

“Go,” he warned, turning to stomp over to his bed. He opened his nightstand and took out the bottle of Crown he’d stashed away from Spike a couple weeks back. “I mean it.”

“Really?”

He unscrewed the bottle and took a couple shots down his gullet. “I’m fucking livid.” He took another drink. “I’m ready to tear the fucking room apart.” He paused. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ducky, you couldn’t—”

“With my words!” He yelled at her. “With my…fucking words.” He sat on the bed. “So go.”

She was quiet a moment. “No.”

“Faith, I swear to fucking god—”

“Hit me. Throw the bottle. Hell, throw it all.” She gestured an arm about the room. “Come on, Ducky. Surely you can do better that a file of papers.”

Before he could think about it, his arm revved back and he threw the nearly full bottle of Crown Royal toward her with all his might. She dodged, thankfully, and the glass shattered spewing amber liquid as the door cracked from the impact.

He stood there, shaking, as he looked at the hand he’d just used to try and hurt her. Fucking hell, what was wrong with him? He heard crunching glass as she calmly walked over to him. His anger melted and he looked up at her with mortified remorse. “Faith, I—”

She cut him off by seizing his face in her hands and pulling him down against her lips. It wasn’t a gentle kiss—it was violent and angry and full of all the darkness he had swirling inside—and he drank in her emotions and mixed them with his own.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him that this led to sex. When he felt her start unfastening his belt, a primal sort of need overtook him. Pulling back, he yanked her workout pants and underwear down to her ankles. Then he turned her around and shoved her on the bed. There wasn’t foreplay as he unfastened his jeans and tugged them down past his ass.

He grabbed her legs and pulled her toward him, her knees nearly touching the floor. He spread her pussy lips and shoved himself inside, not even stopping to check and make sure she was wet enough. She was, which was all he needed to know as he began fucking her harder and tougher than he’d ever fucked a woman before.

It was violent. Raw. As he slammed into her over and over, he grasped her ass so tight it would bruise. She clung to the sheets and cried out into the mattress every time he dove inside her, begging him not to stop. As he felt her body begin to tremble as her orgasm approached, he grabbed her waist and hoisted her knees to edge of the bed before reaching out to grasp her shoulders and bring her back up against her chest.

He wrapped one hand around her throat and the other slipped down and found her clit. She came apart with a guttural cry he’d never heard from her throat. He came inside her, unable to stop thrusting until he felt his dick empty its load.

He held them together. His hand slowly leaving her throat and pussy to join around her waist. He buried his head in her neck, ashamed at himself for how he’d just treated her. He felt her lay her hands atop his arms.

“Better, Ducky?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Are you okay?” he choked, grasped her tighter.

“Better, I think,” she said with a sigh. “Ro couldn’t give it to me like that.”

“I’m sorry that—”

“Don’t. Let’s save the apologies and bullshit for everybody else, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said thickly before planting a soft kiss to her collarbone. The he slid out of her and took a step back.

They got their pants pulled up before she turned around to face him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Do you?” he countered.

She shrugged. “What can I say? He killed me and decided to fucking forget about it instead of being a man and owning up to what he’d done.”

“My dad ran off for a month leaving me with a few hundred bucks and a little brother to raise while he went out and knocked up a witch. I was twelve by the way, in the middle of Southside Chicago.”

“Fuck them both.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.

A mischievous smirk befell Faith. “You do owe an apology, you know.”

He swallowed. “I know and I am. Truly, Faith, I was out of line.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not to me, you big sappy ducky.” She looked toward the door. “That bottle of booze you wasted. Tell me that wasn’t Crown.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. The sad part is I was hiding that from Spike.”

She leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips. “I’m grabbing a _much _needed shower. You better have this mess cleaned up by the time I get back.”

He honestly didn’t know how he’d been lucky enough to find her. He did know one thing—he was definitely calling her his girlfriend now.

*~*~*

Zack kinda felt useless as he wandered around the bunker. Kelly had gone from crazy, hot vampire back to sweet, perfect housewife. She’d taken Cordy and Anya to the kitchen to help her prepare what had to be five pounds of pasta. He’d learned back in their human years of marriage that he and Kel did not do well with the couple cooking. She was scary with a knife in her hand.

Most of the others had gone back to the books after whatever private meeting happened there at the end. Obviously more Winchester than apocalypse, so he really didn’t give a shit.

“Hey,” Spike said as he sauntered from the kitchen, beer in hand.

“Hey.” He hadn’t had a one-on-one with his sire since they’d arrived. “You okay? I mean jokes about Buffy behind the wheel aside, you okay?”

Spike nodded and gestured for him to follow. They ended up in what looked like some sort of weapons room. It was fucking amazeballs.

“Damn, don’t show Wright this or you may lose some inventory when this is all over.”

Spike shut the door. “Gotta share something, Zangy. Need this to remain between us. Just _us._”

Zack nodded. Spike didn’t do this. His stomach clenched. “Yeah. Shoot.”

Spike sighed and dragged a hand through his platinum locks. “Last night. It was bad, mate. I mean I saw the white light _bad_. If it hadn’t been for the ring and the interruption, I would be ash.”

“Caught that from the meeting.” The demon inside gave an angry growl at the thought that someone had attacked his sire. The man was pissed someone hurt his best friend.

“I was crispy toasted outside and in. Burns like that don’t mend quick, not even with vamp or human blood being poured down your throat.”

“Okay…” Zack wasn’t following. “But you look okay now.”

“Still a bit tender, but yeah. Pretty bloody good.” He paused. “Too bloody good.”

“Spell it out for me, man,” Zack pleaded.

“Buffy’s still got the Slayer in her. I don’t care if her blood flashed orange or gold or sodding apricot. Only that kinda mojo could have done what it did to me.”

“So, you think that Buffy could still open or close the Hellmouth?” Fuck.

“I think Red and Lucifer are underestimating my girl, yeah.” He gave Zack a long, fearful look. “And we gotta keep it that way.”

“Sure. That seems easy enough.”

“And keep Buffy from getting any wise thoughts about it either.”

“Well, that’s where you lost me, buddy. How the fuck we keep her from putting two and two together if you did?”

“By reminding her she’s dead now,” Spike growled softly. “Telling her the demon drowned out the slayer and there’s no point in wasting herself on a maybe.”

“But you think that’s more the opposite.”

“Dammit, Zangy. I came to you because you’re the only one without a neck in the game. Zangy ain’t gonna flinch when it comes to Bite Size and I respect the fuck out of him for it. Daddy is gonna always put his girl first. Sam’s on Bit’s team and Dean is on Faith’s.”

“Thanks,” Zack said dryly. “Glad to know I was your last resort.”

“No, you’re my fucking _family_. You and Pidge. We made you and I know what that means. Only bond stronger for a vampire is with its mate. That’s why you’re my _only_ resort. Wanker.”

Zack nodded, smirking slightly at the artful punchline. “Okay. Gotcha. We gotta watch Buff without letting her know why we’re watching.”

“Right,” Spike said, reaching for the doorknob. “No way this ends with me getting an unpleasant sort of ass-kicking.”

“You mean that happens with you two?”

“If she’s too brassed to shag me after, yeah. Can’t say it’s happened yet, but this one may be the ticket.”

*~*~*

Faith was a hot mess. Pure and simple.

Lucifer. Wes. Apocalypse. Coming back from the dead. Any one of those would be enough to drive a girl a little crazy. All of the combined to give her more confusion that a fucking concussion.

Dean.

Ducky Winchester. That was the one she kept coming back to every time her brain spun off trying to process her shit. Every single damn time she thought she’d seen it all, he took off another layer of himself. Last night had been intense. Just now had been…indescribable.

She’d finally seen that darkness he’d talked about. When she’d looked into his eyes, she’d seen it—pain, torture, hate and rage—and he’d tried to hold her back. Tried to make her leave before he’d given in to it in his moment of weakness.

Faith recognized it because she lived with it inside. It was bubbling through her veins. And instead of being rational and seeing his dangerous and violent outburst as a red flag and running, she was a sick, twisted bitch who’d begged him to fuck her raw.

She wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror and looked hard at herself. What did that say about her? And what did it say that there didn’t seem to be a side of Dean Winchester she didn’t want?

She was fucked up in the head. Maybe that’s why Chuck had kicked her out of Heaven. Maybe that’s why Lucifer was so attracted to her. Maybe that was why Ducky…

She tore her eyes from the looking glass and finished getting dressed. She needed a drink. And something to eat today other than a damn donut. Faith took her clothes back to…the place she was currently sleeping. Dean’s room? Her room? Their room?

She wasn’t surprised to find it empty. The glass was swept up, though the floor was still a little wet. The bedding had all been stripped, which was really overdue. She guessed Dean wasn’t kidding when he’d said it was his laundry day. Her own wardrobe was running pretty thin, so she figured today was as good as any.

She looked around the room and closet for a basket, but gave up and decided to shove all the dirty clothes she could find into Dean’s black duffle. There were a couple pairs of his jeans that wouldn’t fit along with his jacket, so she threw them over her shoulder and made her way to search out the laundry room.

“Hey,” Zack said meeting her as she turned a corner.

“You know where the washer’s at?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You’ve been here more than me.”

“And I’ve barely been alive a week. That’s pretty sad.” She gave him a smirk and shuffled to move by.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she froze. Zack noticed the tension and dropped his hand immediately to his side. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to… Not looking to kill you again.”

“Good to know.” She edged around him and started walking.

“Faith, I kinda wanted to say something.”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Look, we’re cool, Z. Bygones and all that. You were soulless. No need for the awkward chat.”

“Wes had his chance. After you…well, after the bracelet activated. He…” He broke off with a nervous chuckle. “They nabbed baby Kelly and I surrendered myself to Wolfram and Hart in exchange. A whole team of them—Wes, Willow, Ron and Sam Winchester—broke in to bust me, Kel and Kelly out.”

She couldn’t help but interrupt as she turned around. “Sam was there?”

Zack nodded. “Harry, Dean and a woman named Donna were there looking for…well, you. The bracelet. Kinda surprised Dean didn’t tell you because he sure seemed to be crowing about how he was actually the one who found you and beat Harry Potter to the punch.” He paused and frowned. “Yeah, Harry also vowed to never let him wear his Invisibility Cloak again. Can’t say I remember the details.”

Faith’s heart gave a little skip. How did Ducky keep coming up in her story? The cemetery where she’d died, the car where she’d come back to life and now she learned _he’d_ been the one out of everyone to find her in Wolfram and Hart. She didn’t believe in fate, but signs were getting kinda wiggy.

“Anyway,” Zack continued, “Wes had a choice in all the chaos. He had the stake in his hand and as open a shot as he could ever get. He killed Lilah Morgan.”

“What?” Faith gasped.

“He said…” Zack choked a little. He cleared his throat. “He said he wanted to kill the one responsible for killing Fred. And he did.”

Holy fucking wow. Maybe no one other than the vamp talking understood more what that meant coming from him. As fucking pissed as she was at the guy, she couldn’t help but being relieved to know that Wes had finally found some peace. “Thanks,” Faith said.

“Yeah,” Zack said with a nod before turning and walking off.

She’d barely recovered from the conversation when Nick and Ro popped into view. “Great,” she said as she started moving again. “Where the hell is the laundry room in this crazy maze?”

“Sure,” Rosalie began. “You just go to the end of this hall, make a right, then go—”

“Wait a bloody minute,” Nick cut in. “Are you actually handling Dean’s dirty laundry?”

“Unless there’s maid service I wasn’t told about,” Faith responded. “Don’t tell me there’s a laundry chute I missed.”

“Never one time in nearly a year did I ever watch you wash anything but your own knickers.”

Faith shrugged, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “You never asked.”

Nick’s face reddened. “I bloody well did! I got the sodding flu and you just told me to sleep naked until the vomiting ceased.”

“Still say it was a good idea.” She looked to Rosalie. “Make a right and then what?”

“Go down the stairs on the left. It’s right there.” She had a condescending twinkle in her eyes. Like washing some clothes was something special.

“Whatever,” she said. “Go have some sex. Wait! Someone’s on the rag.”

“Not funny!” Rosalie called after her.

“Try it up the ass once. You never know until you do, Ro.”


	48. Chapter 48

Sabrina forgot to send her Patronus message until right before she and Wesley loaded up the car. Ghosting the very wizards who were her best and, if she was being honest with herself, only bet at surviving should MACUSA come for her seemed like a bad idea. And MACUSA would know something was up soon—she hadn’t reported for work and, even when she was feeling under the weather, she at least sent an owl or a message via the Floo Network. Perhaps she should have done that just to buy herself time, but she worried that would look more conspicuous.

The last thing she expected was for Hermione to reply to her message. Just as she and Wesley were about to hit the road, a silver otter burst through the shadows of the surrounding trees. Sabrina scrambled out of the car, her heart in her throat, and waited as the otter began to speak in Hermione’s voice.

_“We know about your brothers and I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. Ginny and I will visit your flat and cast spells to make it appear that you have been taken against your will. Not sure how much time that will buy, but hopefully enough to allow you and any traveling companions to disappear. We recommend using Muggle means of transport until you are far enough away to send another Patronus. Ron’s written to his mum and dad for the tent we used when hunting Horcruxes. We’ll find a way to get it to you, with Floo Network being the best bet. Refer to _The Deathly Hallows_ for the spells you’ll need to secure it. Also, you need to know that we are headed to Kansas. We have information regarding Willow’s movements and intentions, and must secure the area. Up to you on whether you join us. Your brothers have been informed of your existence. We will only share with them what you wish us to. Be safe.”_

And without much ceremony, the silver otter disappeared as though it had never been there.

Well, that was certainly a lot of information to absorb all at once. Sabrina blinked at the place the dazzling creature had stood, then shook her head and returned to the car.

“What was that?” Wesley asked. “A Patronus? From Potter?”

“Hermione,” Sabrina replied, her voice thick. “Potter’s Patronus is a stag. Everyone knows that.”

At this, he looked somewhat abashed. “Ah, yes. Well, I suppose in my reread, I was focusing on other things. But now that you mention it, I should have known.” He paused. “I cannot tell, from the look on your face, whether this is good news or not.”

“That’s fair, since I’m not sure of that, myself.” She worked her throat. “The Golden Trio knows about my brothers and apparently told them about me. I didn’t realize they were still in contact, but I suppose I should have.”

Nothing for a moment. “Not sure why that might be,” Wesley replied. “From what I recall, and it is a bit fuzzy, having been Obliviated and all, their presence in Los Angeles was more a case of fortunate timing. As you know, they knew Zack Wright through their—_your _father. Perhaps that entire affair put the lot of them back in contact. Wright certainly has ties to Willow through his friendship with Spike and Buffy.”

“So we’re to assume Willow’s headed to Kansas, then,” Sabrina muttered. “That something’s there. And they’re going to ask the Winch—my brothers for help.”

“It’s certainly possible.” A beat. “Do you want to go to Kansas?”

She’d known the question was coming—hell, she’d been asking herself the same thing since she’d first read the file. The answer was a big ole mixed bag because _hell yes, _she wanted to meet this secret family she hadn’t known she had. At the same time, though, the thought alone made her gut twist with dread. Even with the help Hermione had offered insofar as buying time—and that, she had to admit, was brilliant—MACUSA would discover the truth eventually. They would retrace her footsteps, perhaps learn she’d been spending time at Caritas. Someone there was bound to know Wesley, and Wesley would lead them back to the Hyperion, where Zack Wright would explain that his business partner had gone MIA. Both of them disappearing would lead MACUSA to the correct conclusion. And yes, while she’d placed a Fidelius Charm on the cabin where Wesley had been holed up, they might be able to trace her there by other means, such as her cell phone. Or perhaps if they needed to use a credit card in a pinch. There were many ways to be found.

The last thing Sabrina wanted was to bring MACUSA to her brothers’ doorstep. They had no idea she’d been tasked to Obliviate them and, being hunters, would likely put up a fight. A fight they would lose, because no matter how good at surviving they were, MACUSA had the power of the government and Wolfram and Hart at their disposal. Drawing a line straight to them would be like muttering the Killing Curse itself.

“No,” Sabrina said at last. “If MACUSA is after me, the last thing I want to do is lead them to Kansas.” Which also meant skipping on the second-most pressing thought she’d entertained since discovering the truth—going to Chicago to confront her mother. That would be among the first places they’d look and she wasn’t sure she trusted her mother to not betray her.

“My dear, I am entirely at your disposal.” Wesley offered her a kind smile, the sort that made her want to cry, and reached over for her hand. “The only connections I have are those who would gladly hand me over to any authorities, Muggle or Magic alike.”

“We need to find somewhere with Floo Network access.” There were coffee bars littered with such establishments. “Hermione is going to provide us with the tent she and the others used while fighting Voldemort.”

“A tent?”

“Yes, and I’m all kinds of grateful. The reason they managed to evade capture was they stuck to themselves, not venturing into public unless absolutely necessary, and they had the Invisibility Cloak.” Something she rather doubted Harry Potter would lend out, convenient as it’d make things. “If we stick to motels, maybe an Air B&B, we can put up the sort of protections they used for a night or so, but NoMaj houses won’t disappear like a tent will—not without people noticing.” She glanced at Wes and smirked somewhat at the put-off look on his face. “It’s a large tent, if the book is to be believed. Very roomy should you need some space.”

“Not from you, but I’d fancy not worrying about knocking the thing over every time I sneeze.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.” She hoped. God, not too long ago, the notion that she would _hope _there was more truth to Rowling’s work than she’d been led to believe would have been laughable. But right now, she couldn’t deny that being in the good graces of the Golden Trio was perhaps the best thing in her life. Aside from the man seated to her left.

If they were able to take down MACUSA, one of the first things she’d do would be to dispel the anti-Potter sentiment rampant in the United States. She owed them more than she wanted to consider.

“For now, I suppose I just drive.”

Sabrina nodded. “Just drive. And try to stay off the main roads, if possible. Hermione suggested sticking to NoMaj methods of transportation.” Which meant that she, for the first time, wouldn’t be getting anywhere fast. The thought was somewhat exciting. “When we stop, we’ll figure out where to go for the trade-off.”

“There’s still time for you to go back, you know,” Wesley said. “And I certainly wouldn’t blame you for it.”

“I can’t go back. Not when I know…the things I know.” She swallowed. “And I want to go with you.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “I want to go with you, too.”

“Good. So let’s go. The sooner we decide where to stop, the sooner we can have sex and forget about this until tomorrow.”

At this, he barked a laugh. “You remind me a bit of her,” he said, starting the car.

“Who?”

“Faith. But…not, at the same time.”

Just what every girl wanted to hear. “Wes, I’m not—”

“In a good way. I realized after I said that how it might sound and it’s not a… You’re not a replacement for her. Or for anyone. Your approach to things is very different as is your personality. But your bluntness…” He laughed again, shaking his head. “I never had to guess what she was thinking. She told me. And I liked that. I still do.”

Sabrina shifted, still not sure how much _she_ liked _this_. “I’m not usually that forward. Just when I get tired and scared. Right now I’m both of those things. But if you want me to be more…”

Wesley sighed and shook his head, squeezing her hand. “I’m a wanker, love. Didn’t mean… I want you to be you. No one else.”

“You loved her.”

He nodded, his expression pensive. “At the time, I did. I didn’t realize it until after… Well, after. But she was right in what she told me before she died. That she… That we weren’t good for each other. I was attracted to her darkness, knowing the places she’d been. That she’d hurt me a great deal once, too. Physically, that is. Tortured me and…I think it was _that _that I liked. I wanted to feel _that_. But she wasn’t that woman anymore and hadn’t been for a long time. We never would have lasted, had she not…” He cleared his throat and refocused on the road. “I’m just going to start driving east. Tell me if something strikes your fancy.”

Sabrina nodded. “Will do,” she said, thinking that perhaps she was more like her mother than she’d ever thought. Falling for someone she shouldn’t, someone with his own demons. Because what Wesley had just told her should be a major red flag…and it wasn’t.

If her mother had even loved John Winchester, but she thought she must have at least a little. It would certainly explain why she was so staunchly against NoMajes today—the man had broken her heart.

All speculation, of course, but Sabrina couldn’t help but worry that she might be repeating history.

*~*~*

Sam guessed the thing no one had told him about big families was it allowed more room for dysfunction. Which, considering how dysfunctional his family of two, three, then four had been, was saying quite a lot. He wasn’t unaccustomed to fighting with Dean, but he was unaccustomed to it being about something like a girl. Or, in this case, girls. His brother had never been much of a soft touch, but Sam could typically count on him to not make threats of bodily harm to women. Human women, at least. And Key or not, Dawn was very human.

Still, that wasn’t the reason Sam sought him out after Kelly had dished out a heaping of the best-smelling spaghetti he’d ever had the privilege to sniff. Another thing about big families—nothing, apparently, remained secret. Rosalie had come to him after finishing up her sparring session with Faith, which had apparently ended abruptly, to let him know his brother was upset and, after she’d collected the papers Dean had tossed across the training room, she guessed it had to do with the sister bombshell. Which was now _also _spreading through the bunker like wildfire. Sam had decided to shelve his irritation with Dean’s outburst at Dawn for the moment to make sure he was all right, because nothing got under his brother’s skin like family stuff.

He’d made it to his bedroom in time to hear something heavy shatter against the door, and would have helped himself right in had the sounds not gone from violent to X-rated. Apparently, there was no problem that sex with Faith couldn’t fix.

Sam had decided to give Dean a bit to collect himself after that, and also to distance himself from his own bitter thoughts. Dinner seemed like the perfect time to try again. And after their mother had berated Dean for attempting to claim the kitchen table—insisting that if anyone should eat there, it’d be their guests or the people who had made the meal—Sam figured his brother had found himself a nice corner to sulk in. He just hoped he was alone. He wasn’t sure how much Faith he could handle right now.

Faith seemed to be nowhere in sight. Not in the kitchen swarming around the food, at the table, in the meeting room, or anywhere else. Sam figured that didn’t bode well for him, so he was pleasantly surprised when he rounded the corner into the weapon’s room and found Dean sitting against the wall by himself, shoveling spaghetti into his mouth like it would go bad.

“Hey,” he said, making his way across the room.

Dean grunted an acknowledgment but otherwise didn’t look up.

“Mind if I join you?”

Dean gestured with a noodle-laden fork. “Help yourself,” he said, still not looking up. “Fuck, that Kelly can cook. This is the best fuckin’ spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

Sam was eager to dig in, himself, but he wanted to take advantage of their privacy while he had the chance. “So…you okay?”

Another grunt that meant precisely nothing.

“Rose just mentioned something about you…in the training room.”

Dean snorted and at last looked up. “Don’t beat around the bush, Sammy. Ask what you wanna.”

“I just did. Thought ‘you okay?’ covered it.”

“Okay as I’m gonna get tonight. Not sure on tomorrow.” Dean lowered his plate to his lap. “Remember Chicago?”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.” They hit Chicago at least once a year while on the road.

“When we were kids,” he clarified. “Case Dad took us on. We were there about a month. I woulda been in the sixth grade, so you were seven or eight. He and Bobby got into a big fight after I got knocked around a bit at school. Any of this ringin’ a bell?”

Sam nodded, though his memories of that time weren’t as clear as he’d like them to be. Towns and stories had a way of running together—he relied on Dean’s account of things more because he’d been the one tasked to play the adult. As a child, time was somewhat relative. A month felt like a year, and a week felt like a month. And somewhere along the way things got blurry.

“Dad was chasing a witch who’d made off with a wizard. Teamed up with a witch to do it.”

“Sabrina’s mom.”

Dean nodded. “And while they were on the hunt, he was apparently also in her cunt. Makin’ us a baby sister.”

Sam would like to say that Dean’s crudeness became less shocking over time, and in many ways it did. But not this time—not in talking about their father and the apparent mother of their half-sister. “Dude.”

“Just statin’ the facts,” he replied unapologetically, gaze fixed on his plate of food again. “And yeah, maybe findin’ that out pissed me off. Like Adam wasn’t enough. I get my ass handed to me on the playground, worry myself to old age that he’ll never come back through our motel door while tryin’ to do right by you and he’s off makin’ more kids.” He shoveled another forkful into his mouth. “Let’s just hope she takes after her mama in more than looks.”

He let that sit for a minute, unsure what to do with it. The knowledge that he had a sister was overwhelming and still somewhat unbelievable, like he understood it in an academic way but accepting it on a personal level would take time. For now, she was just a name. And he wasn’t sure now was the time to let her become more than that, with everything else they had going on.

“Tried to go by your room,” Sam said softly. “Rose came to me right off. She was worried.”

Dean seemed to understand where this was leading, for the drags of his fork over the noodles slowed a bit.

“Sounded…intense.”

A snort. “What, you stand outside listenin’ for pointers?”

“I just… I’m worried, Dean. She seems to bring out the worst in you.”

The fork hit the plate, the plate hit his lap, and Dean gave him the most direct look he had since he’d entered the room. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. With…whatever happened in there and earlier today with Dawn—”

“Dude, stop. I told you already—I like Dawn. She’s a peach. But this beef she has with Faith is fucking childish.”

“She was a _kid _when it happened. Faith busted into her house and held a knife to her throat, threatened to kill her and her mom. And yeah, we’ve done worse to each other, sure, but that doesn’t lessen what Faith did to Dawn. It’s not a contest.” Sam barked a laugh. “You reacted today to something that happened when you were twelve. Dawn was not much older than that when this stuff with Faith happened—and that’s not taking into consideration everything she did before that. Would you forgive Dad if he were right here?”

“I’ve forgiven you for worse.”

“Have you though? You seem to always have it there to throw in my face.”

“Forgiving ain’t forgettin’,” Dean shot back, his eyes blazing. “I’ll say this one more time and that’s the end. She’s never bullshitted me on who she was then. Not once. She fuckin’ wears it because she can’t take it off. And however much your girlfriend hates her, think Faith’s already done that to herself times ten. But she’s tryin’, ain’t she? Got sent back by Chuck for a reason. Still not good enough for her, fine, but _you _oughta know better.”

“We don’t know what that reason was, or even if it was a good one. You know Chuck—”

“Yeah, I know Chuck. And I know you. And Dawn. And I know Faith—more than you do and a fuck-ton better than Dawn does.” Dean picked up his plate again. “She doesn’t bring out the worst in me. I do that on my own.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn’t sure what he’d say—trying to talk to Dean when he was in these moods was difficult on the best of days. But they were on unfamiliar ground now. With people in their lives other than each other…and he wasn’t sure how to navigate this.

So instead, he looked down at his cooling plate of spaghetti and stuffed a forkful in his mouth.

Dean was right. It was really good.

*~*~*

“I wouldn’t.”

Faith paused, her hand hovering over the second, smaller helping of spaghetti. “Slayer’s gotta eat, B.”

“Yeah. But not that.” Buffy nodded to the pasta. “Kelly mixed blood in with the marinara sauce. That’s exclusively for the vamps.”

At this, Faith turned to catch Kelly’s eye. The sneaky bitch had directed her to the blood pasta after practically shoving a plate in her hands. Kelly just arched an eyebrow, daring her to say something. But of course she didn’t, because that would disturb the peace and Faith had actual things to worry about other than some pissing contest with a passive aggressive vamp.

“Here you go,” Buffy said, directing Faith to another overflowing pan. “This doesn’t smell as good to me. Blood-free.”

“Thanks,” Faith muttered, and scooped up a helping, though her appetite had somewhat waned. “What are you and Blondie up to tonight?”

“Patrol, probably.”

“Lucky bitch.”

“You’re gonna patrol?” This came from Zack, who materialized behind them with a plate of what Faith could only assume was the blood pasta. “Awesome. Kel and I’ll go with.”

Kelly arched an eyebrow. “We will?”

“You know you wanna.” Zack waggled his eyebrows. “Like old times.”

Yeah. Old times. Faith had few of those with people in this room that could be called good. She swallowed hard and stepped aside as Wright dug in to what she had to believe was his third helping. Fuck, she was fortunate any food was left at all. She hadn’t realized dinner was ready until a smirking Ro had come by to deliver the message, and caught her folding laundry.

“Have fun on behalf of the grounded slayers,” Faith said, and made her way through the throng of people to find a place to sit.

Except there was no place. Nowhere she’d feel welcome, aside from with Nick and Rosalie, but she didn’t think she could stomach more of their snide comments or stupid smug looks. Buffy and Spike would be good company, except Spike was chatting with Dawn, which ruled them out, and while Wright and Cordelia considered her a sort of extension of the family—at least she thought—conversation with just them would be awkward and strained without Ro or Nick as a buffer. Xander and Anya weren’t anywhere in sight, but she’d have to be fucking desperate. Which left Giles or Mary, and, well, no.

But she was just making excuses. She knew who she wanted to be with now. Unfortunately, Dean wasn’t in sight, either. Must have slipped into a different room. So she could either find him or eat in solitude.

She grabbed two bottles of water and went off on a duck hunt.

It didn’t take long to find him. He was pressed against the back wall of the weapons room, scraping his fork along his plate. Faith released a sigh and started toward him, not seeing Sam until Dean had looked up. And when she caught little brother’s expression, her stomach dropped.

All right. Not welcome here, either. Faith stopped abruptly and turned to find a corner of her own. Eating solo wasn’t so bad. She’d gotten plenty of experience in prison.

“You can stay if you share,” Dean called after her, and from his tone, he _wanted _her to stay. Which rolled away the big stone that had settled in her gut.

Faith turned back around, met his eyes, and smirked. “Was hungry. Not sure I wanna brave it now, anyway.”

“Why?” Dean sputtered. “What do you know?”

“That Kelly almost let me eat the stuff meant for the vamps,” she replied. “Marinara with extra o-poz in the sauce.”

Dean wrinkled his nose and gave her plate a dubious look.

“B caught me in time.”

His expression lightened. “Then it’s all good.”

She took a seat next to him and offered her plate. Dean wasted no time in scooping a helping, but not as much as she would have thought.

“Pretty sure slayers need more than sugar, sugar,” he said when she arched an eyebrow at him. “Eat.”

Faith smirked and handed him one of the bottles of water she’d wrangled from the kitchen. He opened it and guzzled about half without taking a breath.

When she hazarded a glance to Sam, she found him staring at Dean like he didn’t recognize him.

“Why’d Kel try to get you to eat the gross stuff?” Dean asked in between shoveling noodles in his mouth.

“Oh, I’ve told you—she’s never forgiven me for banging her husband.”

Dean abruptly dropped his fork and whipped his head to her. “You and Zack? Really?”

Faith furrowed her brow. Had she somehow missed this story on their road trips? She could have sworn it had come up when they’d been swapping vamp tales. “I didn’t tell you this?”

“You slept with Kelly’s husband?” Sam blurted, looking somewhere between disappointed, angry, and smug. Like she’d just proved a fucking point for him. “Think you’re lucky the worst she’s done is try to get you to eat vamp food.”

At this, she rolled her eyes, swirling noodles around her fork. “He was soulless at the time.”

“And…that makes it better?”

“Well, it was either he fuck me and try to tear my throat out, which he did, or he fuck someone else and actually succeed.” Faith shrugged a shoulder, popped a bite into her mouth and begrudgingly admitted to herself that it was the bomb. “He didn’t know me then. Was trying to get the drop on him to see if I could bring him in before shit got worse. Got to where he was, read the situation, saw he was out to fuck and kill, and it seemed like the best way to get close to him at the time. Better me than someone else. I’m a big girl—I can take it.” Faith thought for a moment. “Granted, he did succeed in fucking killing me later, but at least I knew what I was doing.”

“So…that’s a thing you do,” Sam said, staring at her. “Just…have sex with random monsters if the situation is right?”

Faith glanced at Dean, who didn’t say anything. But he also didn’t look particularly worried or bothered—rather like he already had the answer.

“I’ll let them think they can fuck me, sure, before I take their head,” Faith replied, looking back to Sam. “Zack was a special case, though. We didn’t want him dead.”

“And if something like that were to happen again…”

“Are you askin’ me if I’d fuck a vamp again to keep from killin’ him? Like I said, each sitch is different.” She nudged Dean. “If you ever go vamp again, I’ll try that tactic first, how about it?”

Dean barked a laugh and when he raised his head, she saw his eyes were dancing with genuine amusement. “Well, at least I’ll have something to look forward to.” He raised a hand and she high-fived him without thinking about it, and he laughed again.

When Faith shifted her attention back to Sam, she found that look was back—the one that said he was having serious doubts as to whether or not this guy was his brother.

“I can’t believe you told her about that,” he said at last. “Seriously, Dean…”

Faith shrugged. “What? We were swapping soulless vamp stories. We both had ’em. Though different kinds of soulless, granted.” She nudged Dean again. “That’s why I thought you knew about Zack. What did I share?”

“Angel. Trying to bone the soul out of him,” he said in a completely unbothered tone.

Well, the second he said it, it seemed obvious. “Ah, of course. That’s the one that left a mark. Zack’s barely blip on my radar.” Faith glanced back to Sam and brought her hands up. “Didn’t succeed with Angel—the boning or the desouling, thank fuck, though he did have me fooled. Some warlock owed Giles a solid and kept his soul in place when the mayor hired him to magic it out.” She shuddered. “Shit woulda got real bad if he’d gone evil then. Well, worse than it went.”

With his plate and fork balanced in his right hand, Dean reached out with his left and patted her knee, then went back to eating.

“But I think what you’re asking,” Faith said to Sam, “is if it’d be just any vamp now, were it to happen again, right?”

Sam didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. Now he looked torn somewhere between confused and annoyed and curious.

“Didn’t turn out so hot for me that night,” Faith explained coolly. “And unlike some people in this room, I’m _not_ a slow learner.”

At this, Sam seemed to concede to anger. “Just what is that—”

“Quack, quack,” Dean said, and this time he was the one nudging her, and she burst out laughing. He gave her a thoroughly amused look before polishing off the rest of his pasta, then waited until she got a hold of herself to gesture at her still barely touched dinner. “Seriously, babe, eat.”

“Fine,” she replied. “If you want more, you better go now. Wright was going through it like nuts.”

“Not sure I wanna play Russian roulette with whatever’s left,” he said, putting his plate aside. “If the blood stuff tastes as good to the vamps as this does, it might be hard to tell which is which.” He gave her a look, then snatched up his fork and helped himself to a meatball. “That’s it. For real now.”

Faith snorted and slurped up a mouthful of noodles, not caring when she felt sauce on her chin.

“Gotta say, you are smokin’ hot most of the time,” Dean said, fighting back a laugh, “but when it comes to food, you’re a fucking slob.”

She sucked up another noodle, holding his gaze defiantly. “Like you wouldn’t do me right now.”

“I would and I kinda think I need to get checked out for that.”

“All right. I’m out.” Sam pushed to his feet, half a plate of spaghetti still in hand. “You two…do whatever weird thing you do. Food foreplay or whatever.”

Faith pretended not to hear him, instead wiped her mouth and kept her eyes on Dean. “Could you go easy on my ass? You left a bruise there this afternoon.”

Sam practically sprinted for the door at that, leaving Dean chuckling softly, though for the first time since she’d walked in, he looked something other than amused.

“Did I really?” he asked after a moment. “Hurt you?”

“Hurt? No. Bruise? Yeah.” Faith winked. “First guy to do that to me since Wright, I should add.”

“And…you’re okay?”

“Will you do it again?”

“Faith—”

“Ducky, told you earlier, I’m five-by-five.” She grinned as he relaxed and shoveled another in another mouthful. “It was a compliment.”

He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a grin. “You are one twisted bitch,” he said, though his voice was full of affection. And before she could respond, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her to him in a very spaghetti-saucy kiss.

Faith snorted, wiping away the streaks of red on his cheeks. “Think I’m gonna need another shower.”

“It’s those hard to reach places, I’m tellin’ you. Need an extra set of hands.”

“You could be right.”

Dean smirked, grabbed his fork again, and stole another meatball. “Miss Kitty, I’m always right.”


	49. Chapter 49

Sam had needed a break after Faith had broken in his private conversation with his brother. He was becoming less concerned and more outright pissed off at Dean. The cute little looks, the private jokes…the fucking oversharing about some really serious and painful parts of their past. Here they were in the midst of a real apocalyptic situation and Dean was playing games.

He’d gone to his room to eat in silence. After cleaning his plate, he contemplated checking to see if there was any more salad, but decided to do some research on his laptop instead. He hadn’t shut his door, so he wasn’t altogether shocked by an interruption.

“Hey there, frowny face.”

He couldn’t help but smile softly at the voice. “Hey there.” He quirked his head and looked at the giant splotch of red on her shirt. “You know you got a little something”—he gestured a hand over his entire chest—“right there.”

She rolled her eyes. “Buffy smacked my plate after I told her and Spike that I didn’t necessary think her patrolling was the best of ideas.” She shrugged and strolled inside. “I know her blood didn’t pass the test, but what if some horde of demons still try and take her in? My sister has been the most kidnapped vamp in history.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a pretty good point, actually.” He gave her a small smirk, nodding to her shirt. “But I’m guessing Buffy won the fight?”

“I left while Spike was trying to reason with her.” She paused. “Yes, I said _Spike_ and _reason_ in the same sentence. That alone should tell her something.”

Sam gave a little sigh. “Guess we both got ourselves siblings who are too smart for their own good.”

“Dammit, Sam,” Dawn said as she flopped down on the edge of the bed. “I’m _really_ fucking sorry about earlier. Pretty sure I have this disease where I can’t keep my foot out of my mouth.”

“No, _you_ were not the problem. Dean crossed the line—”

“Only because I shoved him past it.”

“You weren’t wrong,” he admitted. “She did walk out.” Sam shook his head. “Besides, I’m beginning to think this isn’t really about Faith with him.”

She arched a brow. “You do know they are major in the sexcapades, right? That ain’t just flirtation.”

“I _know_,” he said emphatically. “My ears may never fully recover.”

Dawn snorted. “It gets easier in time.”

“Dawnie, I’ve had to listen to Dean since I was ten. He’d sneak girls into our room and have me wait in the bathroom.”

“Wow…that’s fucked up.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “And people wonder why I try to block out my childhood.”

She leaned over to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. “But how’s it not about Faith?”

“I haven’t said anything—mainly because the past few weeks have been a whirlwind for me. There’s been all the days trying to train Rose and all the nights with Giles and Nick taking a crash course on all things the Watchers Council expects me to know and pass on to the Slayer. Giles and Nick studied for years with ancient languages, thousands of years of history, spells, rituals, fighting techniques…” He broke off with a soft chuckle. “Everything I don’t need to explain to you because you grew up around it.”

“That may be oversimplifying my life, but yeah. I know you’ve been working your ass off. I’ve been crushing on that ass, remember?”

“Yeah, because _you _haven’t been distracting?” He snickered before getting back on point. “All this is to say that Dean hasn’t been happy here before Faith came back and the Hellmouth became a problem.”

Dawn shrugged. “He seemed okay to me.”

Sam shook his head. “No. He was already pissed at me for inviting Rose, Buffy and the guys to stay here. I didn’t talk to him first and I think in his head he gets top name on the deed here just because he’s older.”

“Then, I guess he really _loved_ your mom bringing me home.”

“That was Mom, so actually I think the first week you were the only one he liked.” Sam gave up on research and closed his laptop. “What really did it was when they came and asked me to be Rose’s Watcher. He never forgave them. Or _me_.”

“What were you supposed to do?” Dawn snatched the computer from his lap and placed it on the nightstand.

“Talk to him about it, for one. I know that pissed him off.”

“You’re a grown man, Sam. All of these decisions you made were entirely yours to make. Dean needs to grow up and realize you two aren’t boys anymore.”

“Fuck, Dawnie, I know. It’s great having someone always have your back, but when do they realize we’re just as much an adult as them?”

“Sometimes more.” She gave him a small smile. “Sam, you’re pretty much the second in command here.”

“Huh? No.” He scoffed.

“Yeah, you are. Aside from Giles, Buffy doesn’t take orders from anyone here but you. Sometimes Spike. You ask her to patrol, she goes. You ask her to train kicks with Rose, she does. Did you notice a couple weeks ago you asked Spike to help you decipher ancient Greek and he just sat down and did it?”

“Well, he grumbled.”

She rolled her eyes. “You even sit up and assign cases to everyone. I honestly think your mom and Giles had an affair back in the day and you’re their lovechild.”

“Gross!” She laughed at the cringe on his face. “Totally moving on and ignoring the crap about…well, all of that…Dean was pissed they asked _me_—not him—to join the Council.”

Dawn just shrugged. “Do you blame them? I’ve only seen Dean eat, drink, kill and fuck Faith in over two months. So he’s sparred with the girls a couple times? Big deal. Can he even read a book more than five minutes?”

“Actually, that’s my point. I think he really could have taken on being Rose’s Watcher. He’s smarter than he lets on. He’s loyal and protective and a really good teacher when he wants to be. I think the fact the Council and the Men of Letters blew him off just kinda made him stop trying. He’s been going off solo hunting and drinking more than usual.”

“Now running around with Faith.”

“Exactly.” He closed his eyes and leaned his body against the headboard.

“That’s it,” Dawn said and he felt her slip off the bed. He opened his eyes to watch her go and shut and lock the door.

“What are you doing?” He gave her a bemused stare.

“What every good woman does when she sees her man has hit the wall—a pick me up.” She grabbed the hem of her stained shirt, pulled it over her head and tossed it down.

“Don’t you have work—like now?”

“Wright, Cordy, Xander and Anya are all going in so that Nick can stay and research.”

Sam sighed. “Which means _I _need to go research.”

“No.” She unclasped her bra and let the fabric fall off her shoulders and to the floor. “What you need, Mr. Winchester is a break.”

He moved his mouth, but no words could come out. All he could do was gawk at her breasts and how they moved when she talked. “Ugh…I…stopped for spaghetti.”

“That wasn’t a break. That was dinner.” She began unfastening her jeans. “Seriously? How many hours did you sleep last night? Two? Maybe?”

If he was truthful that was probably generous, but he was used to running like that. “There’s research on preventing the Hellmouth from opening, figuring out how to get to Willow without Lucifer, getting Willow to believe the truth, protecting the slayers, training the youngest one, organizing communications between us, the Potter configuration and the governor of California and trying to keep the Watchers Council and Men of Letters just as well informed as I have to to prevent them coming over all while having the King of Hell make a pass at you while my brother is playing boyfriend to a slut that seems to fall on just about every dick she meets.”

“Wow,” Dawn said as she bent over and took her pants and panties to the floor. “You seriously need this.” She stood up to stand before him completely naked.

Everything he’d just said grew kinda fuzzy. “Dawnie,” he pleaded.

“Nope,” she said as she came over and crawled on the bed, tugging on his clothes. “Consider it a pity fuck.”

“Dawn!”

She leaned over and kissed him and he was lost.

Maybe Dawn was right. He needed a break—from everything and everyone. Everyone except Dawnie Summers. Because right now his world was crumbling faster than he could work to repair it and she seemed to be the only one who cared.

*~*~*

“Come on!” Dean bellowed as he watched Wright scraping the rest of the spaghetti into a bowl.

“What?” he snapped as he turned around, serving spoon raising like a knife. “If I’m running a bar for the night, I need a snack for later. Beer makes me hungry.”

“Zackary,” Kelly said with a low growl as she washed dishes at the sink. “That is your fourth serving. Give it to him.”

He made a noise of disgust. “I’m your brother, Kel.”

“I know and I love you. Dean only ate one. So fork it over before my face gets bumpy.”

“Thanks, Kel,” Dean chirped, sticking his tongue out in victory as he snatched the bowl. He ignored Wright giving him the double bird and walked over to lay his and Faith’s plates by sink. He saved the forks and set them in the bowl before leaning over to give Kelly a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry I never got a chance to welcome you to our humble bunker, sweetie.”

“I’d hug you, but I’m up to my elbows in soapy water,” she said with a smile. The light dimmed from her eyes as her smile melted away. “Gossip says you and Faith are a couple?”

He threw her a pained look. “Not you too? Come on, Special K! You’re my favorite.”

“And I’m awfully fond of you, mister. That’s why I wanted to warn you—”

“That she boinked your hubby when he was soulless,” he finished for her with an eye roll. “Yeah, believe it or not, I know more of her partners than she knows of mine.” He gave her another kiss on the cheek. “And be nice to her with the food,” he whispered. “I steal off her plate.”

“Fine,” she called after him as he made his way first to grab two beers from the fridge and then out the kitchen.

Faith was exactly where they’d agreed to meet and he was grateful the rec room was otherwise unoccupied—everyone else was likely back in the library or hitting the bar and patrol routes for the evening rush.

“I knew you weren’t just gonna grab beers,” Faith teased.

“I had to fight tooth and nail for this last bowl of spaghetti, woman,” he teased back as he sat on the sofa beside her. “Wright nearly stabbed me with a serving spoon. There was blood, tears, and a body we need to bury later.”

She reached and picked up a fork before snatching a meatball. He owed her. “So what really happened?”

“I whined and Kelly made him give it to me.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “She likes me.”

“Well, ain’t that special,” she muttered with a mouthful of meat.

“Asked her to lay off you in the food department on accounts of the plate sharing.”

“A vamp has a vendetta against me and be careful with your food was your only request? Thanks, Ducky.”

He shrugged as he swirled noodles around his fork. “What? You’re Faith the Vampire Slayer. She’s Kelly the Housevamp. Besides, you boinked her hubby. I’d probably be pissed too if you boinked my hubby.” Dean gave her a smirk before taking a bite.

“Technically, I did if we’re talking Cas.”

He groaned as he chewed his food. “Destiel ain’t a thing,” he grumbled after he swallowed.

She giggled and plucked another meatball. “Is that like Brangelina?”

“I’m kinda a big deal on the internet. Google me and _Supernatural_ when I’m nowhere around.”

Her eyes lit up. “Elaborate. Now.”

“Chuck wrote books. Actual books. Cas called them the Gospel of Winchester.”

She blinked. “So, I’m like fucking the Matthew of the _new_ New Testament?”

“If that sounds cool, yes. Otherwise I honestly don’t know what it means except there’s nasty people who think me and Cas or me and _Sam_ should exist.”

Faith gagged. “Dude, slash is one thing but incest is just fucked up.” She giggled. “Unless it’s the whole step thing like your bro and D. Because your mom and G are—”

“Stop!” he warned, pointing his fork at her face. “Not while I’m eating.”

“Whatever,” she snickered as she reached for a beer and popped it open. “So what’s the agenda for this grounded slayer? I haven’t had a night in since I was in prison.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “We could always play warden and prisoner?”

She barked a laugh. “You would.”

“Dunno,” he said before shoveling another scoop of noodles in his face. “Movie?”

“I’m not feeling too Chucky tonight.”

He gestured with his fork over to the bookcase filled of DVDs and VHS tapes. She got up and went over to peruse the selection. After a minute or two, she picked up a DVD and flashed him the cover.

“_Monty Python and the Holy Grail_. A cinematic classic,” Dean said. “Unanimous approval from the sofa.”

“Like you had a choice?” she mocked.

He was done with the pasta by the time she got the movie on and switched off the lights. He held his arm out to the side and she took the hint and snuggled up so he could wrap an arm around her. They sat there, sipping their beers and just chilled like two normal people on any given night.

Somewhere around the time they stormed the castle with the Trojan rabbit, Dean and Faith switched positions to lie down—he spooned her against his back with one arm outstretched under her neck for a pillow and the other draped across her stomach. They kept watching and giggling along with the hilarious plot.

When poor Galahad got cockblocked by Lancelot, Dean leaned over and whispered in Faith’s ear. “Hey, I just did our twenty-four hour tally and I think I missed the two for one exchange rate. Need me to tend to your shrubbery?”

She dipped her head and kissed the arm underneath her. “Thanks, Ducky, but we’ll use quality over quantity today.”

He kissed her head as he felt her lace her fingers in the hand around her waist. This moment didn’t need sex to be intimate. To feel kinda perfect. Maybe that was residual effects from earlier. Two out of three of their sexual encounters today had ranked as the top two most intense, intimate and emotional experiences he’d had with a woman. Ever.

He didn’t make it the the shrubbery—his eyes falling closed long before then. Humming along with the lines he’d memorized as a kid, he drifted off toward the most peaceful sleep he’d had in years.

With Faith around, he really did think he could look on the bright side of life.

*~*~*

Willow couldn’t take it anymore. She’d spent the entire day trying to process the night before—how horribly wrong things had gone with both Buffy and Spike and Faith as well as the heartbreaking revelation that her closest friends the past few years were merely spies keeping watch over her. They’d known all along what Willow had done to herself and others, but had never tried to help her fix it.

And while Michael explained everything so well as to why things were the way they were and why she was so important in making it better, it still didn’t feel quite right in her soul to be up against all her friends simultaneously. She needed to see a friendly face. Someone she trusted more than she trusted herself.

She Apparated into the room with a pop and was relieved to find it wasn’t empty. After walking over to the crib, Willow peered down at her baby boy. God, life had been so cruel—she’d carried him nine months waiting to meet him and show him the world. He’d only been born a minute before everything had fallen apart.

Tenderly, she cupped his chubby little cheek. Hopefully someday soon she could be the mother she’d dreamed about. The mother her little Oz deserved.

The door made a small creaking sound as it opened. Whipping her head up, she locked onto the blue eyes staring back at her.

“I thought I heard you on the monitor,” he whispered softly. “At least I’d hoped.”

Looking at him standing before her in a white undershirt and flannel print boxers, she realized she had no idea how late the hour. “I’m sorry,” Willow told him as she drew her hand slowly back from the crib to keep from waking the baby. “I just needed to see him.”

Sam nodded and gave her a small smile. “You’re good to see, too.”

Willow released a shaky breath. “Sam, I—”

“Shh,” he said, bringing a finger to his lips. He held out a hand and gestured his head toward the hall. With a nod, she stepped over and grasped his palm and allowed him to guide her across the hall and into what had to be his bedroom. He closed the door with a soft click.

“Sam, I—” But once more he cut her off, this time by throwing his arms around her, enveloping her in a deep, strong embrace.

“Oh, Will.” His voice was thick as he whispered against her ear. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

It bemused her to hear him curse. Normally a little more refined in his speech, especially on TV, it was kinda cute hearing him drop the F-bomb. “I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted, hugging him back. “And Oz.”

His eyes were glassy when he pulled away. “I know you have.” He paused. “Oz, I mean. Honestly didn’t know how you felt about me at the moment.”

“Sam, I…” She flashed him a warning look to not interrupt her a third time. “I don’t know what they’re saying about me, but it’s lies.”

“Christ, I hope so,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. “Willow, they say that man you’re working with isn’t Michael. It’s Lucifer—as in _that_ Lucifer—and he’s using you to open something called a hellmouth.”

Michael had prepared her for that. “It’s a lie,” she calmly explained. “We are doing the exact opposite. I’m going to lock it from ever opening ever again.” Willow flashed him a shy smile. “God’s asked me to atone for my sins of the past. I don’t know how, but he says if I do this I can fix all the pain and horror I caused before.” Tears formed in her eyes. “Save Tara.”

“Is that what you want now? Tara?” he asked hesitantly. “Not that I judge you. I just… Forgive me for even asking. It’s fine.”

A knot formed in her chest. “I…don’t know…” She hadn’t actually stopped to think about it. And while it was trivial on the global scheme, it wasn’t for her. For Sam. “I loved her. I _love_ her,” Willow said. “And nothing can change that. But…I’m not that Willow anymore. I have a son.” She paused, furrowing her brow. “And definitely an attraction to girls and guys.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Good to know it wasn’t all fake.”

And that was the rub. It really, really wasn’t. She’d never loved anyone as truly, madly and deeply—thanks Savage Garden—as she had Tara. She didn’t think her heart was capable of any more and then she’d found Oz and it had grown just like the Grinch. And somewhere along the way a charming silver-tongued politician found his way in there, too. Nestling himself into a corner and refusing to leave when she tried to kick him out.

“I know it’s over between us,” Sam said softly. “Other than Oz and a few precious moments in the middle of a war zone, we don’t even have much between us. You don’t know how I like my eggs or my favorite movie. I don’t know if you prefer coffee or tea. I don’t know your favorite color or if you’re ticklish or afraid of spiders.” He sighed. “The little things. Things I imagine you and Tara shared on a day to day basis. And I know you’d do anything to share those with her again because that’s where the true love lives.”

She hadn’t realized she had started crying until the tears were running down her cheeks. “And so help me, Willow, but I want that with you. Twenty years from now, whatever happens, a part of me will always want that. You gave me glimpse—not just when we were together—when you showed me those memories from England. You showed me a piece of you I don’t think you intended when you did it.”

“I showed you what I had done,” she cried. “I showed you how evil and dangerous I am. I _killed_ people, Sam. I hurt so many people.”

“I know.” He didn’t pretend because he couldn’t. She knew. “But you didn’t do it out of _evil_. You did it out of grief—love and pain and hurt and _love_—not because you’re bad or evil. Your greatest crime against humanity is you feel too much. You couldn’t bring her back and you needed to fix it.”

She began to sob uncontrollably and Sam came forward and hugged her once more. “Willow, honey, don’t make the same mistake again. More than the world, I don’t want to see it destroy you again.”

“What do you mean?” she choked, pulling back slightly.

“Deals with the devil? I don’t know from actual experience, but I do know things that are too good to be true always are.”

“Sam, Michael is not the devil.”

“He is not Michael. Michael was locked in Hell with Lucifer by the Winchesters. Lucifer broke out, but Michael did not.”

She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “No, Michael got out. He went to God and God told him he had to build another trap in Hell to lock Lucifer away from the world again before he opens the Hellmouth in Kansas and all the others around the world.”

“Everyone else says the opposite. They say he’s using you to _open_ it.”

“They’re wrong. Dean and Sam Winchester work for Lucifer. That’s why they are living over the Hellmouth and that’s why they took Buffy and Rosalie and Faith to Kansas. To guard them against Michael and stop him from finishing the lock. They want it to open.”

Sam gave her a long unconvinced stare. “They say the books tell the opposite. They say—”

“Books? In a library the Winchesters’ own? That they’ve had years to change? It’s all part of their scheme. Sam, I saw it. Dean has the mark of Lucifer tattooed on his chest.”

He hesitated at that. “What?”

“Just look at it. Have him show you. It’s an upside down pentagram with Hell’s flames surrounding it. It’s a mark of loyalty to Satan.”

“I…uhh…don’t know anything about that.”

She smirked. “Of course you don’t. Why would they tell you? They are working to _brainwash_ everyone.”

“See,” Sam said holding up a hand. “Now you’ve confused me with some really convincing counter arguments. And now my head is starting to hurt because I don’t know if what you’re telling me is the truth or if it’s all part of Lucifer’s plan to _brainwash_ you. I don’t honestly know who is brainwashing who and who is right and who is wrong. Really, my brain just feels like it needs washed.”

Willow couldn’t help a watery laugh from bubbling out. “Still glad you met me?” she teased.

“Every damn day,” he said without hesitation or sarcasm. “Every damn—confusing, surreal and often times terrifying—day.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. A year ago I thought of Heaven and Hell were just philosophical quandaries over right and wrong and life after death. I thought magic was fake and monsters like vampires were only in books or on the screen. Then again, I didn’t know I was going to fall in love and make a baby with the most powerful human in the whole of existence.” He shrugged and laughed lightly. “I was just a crazy Catholic boy from Orange County who became a lawyer who wanted to run for President.”

She didn’t know what she was doing until she found her lips pressed against his own. Willow didn’t know what it was that triggered the response, but figured it was the fact that he’d once again said he loved her. And even though she didn’t know if she loved him back—a part of her really did and a part of her loved Tara and a part of her just didn’t know up from down anymore—she needed to feel it. Needed to feel _loved_. Because she was long past the point of being able to love herself.

The kissing slowly turned into way more than kissing as their hands began roaming each other in some sort of mental drive to find something tangible to hold on to. When that proved not enough, she slipped her fingers underneath the hem of his shirt and felt the heat from his back press against his palm.

Skin on skin. That was what they needed to calm the raging storm of emotions and thoughts and chaos around them. His hands were inside her top, yanking her bra down to cup her breast, squeezing her flesh as their tongues kept begging for more.

And she needed more—more of his body touching hers. Wordlessly they began tearing away their clothes—only pulling back as long as necessary to remove a shirt before diving back into another desperate kiss. But the burning hunger in her her soul didn’t abate. Every touch merely stoked the fire inside.

They moved as one as they crawled into the bed. Their lips refused to separate, even as they paused to gasp for air. Pressing her back against the mattress, she spread her legs and encouraged him to come to him with desperate grasps of his flesh. Neither spoke as he pressed himself against her.

She reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, tugging it gently toward her opening. “Willow,” he moaned against her lips, resting his head against her brow.

“Sam, please.” That was all she said. All it took for him to make him thrust his hips and slid himself inside her body.

Oh my god. This was what she needed—the touch her soul had been aching to feel.

Slow, deep strokes in and out continued until that primal desire for release overtook them. The room filled with sound—the slaps of flesh on flesh, the raged gasps for air between thrusts and the creaking of the hinges every time Sam drove his cock inside her waiting pussy.

She felt his muscles tense, heard him hiss as he tried to keep from coming, but she was too far gone herself to hold back anymore. With a strangled cry into his mouth, she arched her back and let her orgasm overtake her.

Willow heard him release a muffled shout as she felt the warmth of his come spill inside her. And finally she found peace inside. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt whole again.

They had barely came down from the endorphin high when she heard a small whimper over the baby monitor. “Oh God,” she gasped in mortification. She’d thought they had been quiet.

Sam chuckled, his head buried in her neck. He gave her flesh a soft kiss before raising up. “Don’t panic. That’s his two a.m. attention outburst.” He sighed and rolled off her and she immediately missed him. “All the parenting books say it’s best to let him cry himself back to sleep, but none of those books tell you what to do when you’re dealing with a cranky little wizard.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, Will. I’ve already spoiled him. I usually go and rock him back to sleep. Keeps him from waking the whole house up with a magic temper tantrum.”

Willow crawled out of bed and picked up Sam’s shirt off the floor, slipping it over her head. “Can I?” she begged.

“Of course,” Sam said with a warm smile, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m just going to lie here and bask in the afterglow.”

Tiptoeing into the hall, she checked to make sure she was alone before dashing over to the nursery. “Hey there, my little monkey.” She beamed down at the fussy little bundle looking up at her with wide-eyed fascination. Scooping him up, she clutched him to her chest and she thought her heart would explode with happiness.

Bouncing him softly, she ventured to the threshold of the nursery before peeking out into the hall. She didn’t trust anyone but her two guys at the moment and she didn’t care to engage with anyone else right now. Creeping back in to Sam’s room, she shut and locked the door before crawling back into bed and laying Oz down between them. “I’m mad at both of you,” she pouted.

“Why?” Sam asked unfolding his arms and rolling over to face them.

“You let him get too big. He’s not supposed to be this grown up all ready.”

Sam released a relieved giggle. “Yeah, well, there’s these rules about feeding these things.” He looked down and smiled at Oz before grasping his foot and giving it a little shake. “Apparently the law frowns upon it if you don’t. Took me three days to figure it out.”

“Shut up,” she sniggered. “You’re a terrible liar for a politician, Governor Seaborn.”

“Money and hard work along with strong values and more money can win you a lot of votes, Ms. Rosenberg,” he teased with a wink. “Sometimes, on rare occasions, we even win without having to lie and cheat our way to it.” He looked down at Oz. “That right, Mr. Seaborn.”

Oz cooed and gurgled in response. Willow melted into a warm, sappy puddle of Mom-goo. “Did you see that?”

“Yup.” Sam leaned over and gave her kiss before dipping down to plant one on their baby’s fuzzy head. “This fella, Momma, is quite the orator. I believe he’s already composed some of the most profound monologues in the history of the world. He’s just not quite mastered the whole ability to use English, yet.”

“That’s okay,” she said beaming down at her son. “You’re going to totally rock the whole talking and walking part.”

There was a knock at the door just as the knob rattled. “Sam?” Willow heard Donna’s voice through the wood.

“Fuck,” Sam hissed under his breath as he looked to the door in horror.

“Language,” she whispered sternly, pointing a finger at the baby.

“It’s okay, Donna,” Sam called out. “Just talking Oz to sleep.”

“Sam…Sam I heard a woman’s voice.”

“I don’t want to go,” Willow whimpered, the moment broken.

“Then don’t,” Sam whispered, his eyes pleading. “Stay. We can figure this all out together.” He looked briefly to their boy before back to her. “The three of us. He’s really smart you know.”

The doorknob shook once more. “Willow? Willow, is that you?”

Bending down to give her son one last hug and kiss, she made to get up. Sam grabbed her and pulled her back for one last kiss. “I love you,” he choked as he murmured against her lip.

“I—”

“I’m calling Hermione!” Donna shouted. “I’m dialing her now. Open up and we can talk about this!”

Breaking free she stood up and frantically scanned the floor for her clothes. She heard voices—Josh for one—gathering outside the door. There wasn’t time. They’d burst in the door. Or worse, Hermione or Harry would arrive any second. She didn’t know how close they were. Whether they were here already.

Closing her eyes, she focused enough to Apparate. She knew she was back in her old, familiar room before she opened her eyes. She could smell it—the way it smelled nothing like baby or the musky scent of Sam whenever he sweated. Her knees buckled and she stumbled to the bed.

These sheets were cold and unwelcoming—nothing like the rumpled cotton she’d just been on. Burying her face in a pillow, she sobbed herself to sleep. She’d be able to be a real mom to Oz one day. Willow just didn’t know if her heart could wait long enough to save the world for him first.


	50. Chapter 50

“All right, what the hell is up?”

Buffy was prepared to be answered by at least two sets of mock-innocent faces and she wasn’t disappointed. Both Spike and Zack blinked at her, expressions the very picture of, “Who me?” which all but confirmed she wasn’t imagining things.

“What?” Kelly asked, wiping dirt off her brow.

“The Marx Brothers over here have been running me over to get to the kills,” Buffy replied, motioning at their men. “Spike, I know you’re competitive, but damn, I’m about to stake _you _out of sheer frustration.”

Spike did that tongue curl thing that usually made her go hot in all the right places. Right now, it just made her want to punch him in the nose. “Give it a try, love,” he said, giving her the universal _come at me _motion with his fingers. “Haven’t had a decent tussle in weeks.”

“So it wasn’t enough to nearly burn to a crisp,” she snapped back. “No, _William the Bloody _has to piss off the only person in this graveyard capable of kicking your bony ass.”

“Hey!” Zack and Kelly protested in unison.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Really? _That’s _your line in the sand? Anyone want to try to prove me wrong?”

Kelly kicked at the ground sulkily. “No.”

“But do you have to rub it in?” Zack whined.

“No,” Buffy replied, turning her glare on Zack. “I could kick _your _ass instead. What was up with shoving me into that headstone?”

Zack’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing as he visibly struggled to find words. “I…he…it was coming right at you!”

“It was ten feet away and a fledgling. A one-armed fledgling at that!”

“It…looked serious?” His voice hit an awkward pitch.

“So you threw me into a headstone and your wife into the serious-looking one-armed vampire.” Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Never mind that none of us can be staked, asshole. The most he would’ve done is scratch at me. And he _can’t even_ scratch at me.” She held up her wrist and dragged her nails down deep enough to split the skin. “See?”

Zack shot Spike a panicked look, then turned back to her. “Well…he might’ve taken the ring and then done some serious scratching. I mean staking. I mean killing. And then—”

“All right,” Kelly said, crossing her arms now. “What is up? Because I gotta say, not loving my husband taking such an interest in another woman. Especially when she happens to be my best friend.”

Spike and Zack exchanged another look before favoring them both with matching deer-in-headlights stares.

“Spike,” Buffy said, “talk or I swear, I won’t bite you again for a week. Or let you bite me.”

His throat worked and his eyes went wide, and the windows in her mind aligned, flooding her with sudden clarity. As if in response, the mark on her throat gave a little twinge.

“You’re afraid of my blood,” she said, rubbing the still-healing bite. “You think it can still open the Hellmouth.”

Spike didn’t say anything, but in so gave her the answer.

“My blood shouldn’t have worked last night,” Buffy said. “Not at all.”

He swallowed. “Slayer—”

“No. Answer me.”

Spike stared at her a moment longer, his expressive eyes filled with pain and fear in equal measure. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Not as badly hurt as I was. Not that bloody fast.” A pause. “Reckon that it glowed at all when it hit the floor means you’re still in the game as far as the Hellmouth’s concerned. Just gotta make sure no one else catches wise.”

Buffy released a ragged breath, curled her hands into fists. For a moment, she thought she might actually explode. Bye bye Buffy. Done in by the gall and selfishness of the man she loved. How he could keep that to himself—and that Zack had been playing the part meant he was in on it, too.

“So that’s it?” Buffy snapped at last, her eyes burning. “You decided that it’s Faith or no one?”

“You knew this and didn’t tell me?” Kelly whisper-hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Kel, you keep a secret about as well as Screech did.”

“He’s a congressman!”

“He’s being impeached,” Zack shot back. “And way to miss the point.”

“The point being that if the Hellmouth opens, you’re all prepared to sacrifice Faith. Just like that.”

“Of bloody course I am!” Spike roared, his eyes blazing yellow. “You bloody stubborn bint, I will toss you in the trunk and get you across the state line before I let you off yourself. You wanna be the sacrificial lamb, lamb, and you gotta throw me in ahead of you, ‘cause that’s what it’s gonna take. Don’t ask me to apologize for loving you so fucking much the idea of a world without you makes me wish for sunlight.” He pointed at Zack. “Don’t ask him to apologize either. It comes down to losing you or her and it’s her every bloody day of the week. For all of us.”

Zack nodded when she looked at him. “I have nothing against Faith. I’ve told you that…but yeah, Buff, no fucking contest. And you know how Kelly feels.”

“Fuck that whore,” Kelly muttered.

Okay, at some point, Buffy was going to smack her vamp bestie around if she kept that up. But at the moment, she couldn’t pull her focus off her mate and the hot ball of pure rage threatening to burn her up before the Hellmouth got its chance.

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” Buffy said in a low voice, vying for control even if she knew it was a losing battle. “I’m the one with the sacred calling here.”

“It’s not your bloody sacred calling anymore,” Spike barked. “You kicked it. Passed on the bloody crown, not once but twice. You told me you didn’t want to be the Slayer for eternity and you’re _not_. This doesn’t have to be your fight.”

“Is that right? So I can just switch it off at my leisure? I can sit back and let a friend die—again—when I have a way of stopping it?”

“Stopping it by offerin’ yourself up on a bloody platter.”

“You act like I want to jump!”

“Way you go on about it, so do you!” He spread his arms. “Has life gotten dull for you, pet? Ready to cash it in? Decided old Spike’s not enough to keep you around anymore?”

The words were a slap. She could almost feel her skin singing. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Call you on it?”

“Don’t make this about _us_.”

“Well, what else is a bloke to think? All I see is the Hellmouth about to open and you’re climbing over the competition to—”

“I don’t _want _to die, Spike! I don’t want to leave you, or Dawn, or Zack or Kelly, or any of this stupid world, but I can’t just sit back and let other people die, either. That’s not who I am and never has been. If you love me, you get that.”

“And if you love me, you get that I’ll fight you until you hate me to keep you above ground.” Spike prowled forward until he was up close, glaring daggers at her like he hadn’t in years. “You get a yen to be a martyr, love, just let the sodding devil burn me up next time, yeah? ’Cause that’s the only way I’m gonna sit back and let you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t,” she said again, the word a plea this time. “I can’t do this with you.”

“And I can’t do rot without you. We’re bloody even.” Spike turned to Zack. “Oi, mate. Wanna get sloshed?”

For a second, Zack looked genuinely afraid to answer, staring at Buffy like she was some sort of explosive device waiting to detonate. Which, the way she felt at the moment, wasn’t too far off the mark. But his sire loyalty got the better of him, and he flashed Spike a grin. “You buyin’?”

“Filchin’, more like.” Spike sent her a scathing look. “The nature of us evil lot, innit?”

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime, anyplace, Slayer. ‘Cept now I’m goin’ out with my boy.” Spike patted Zack on the shoulder and steered him in the direction of Rosa Lee’s. “Wager we can pull one over on your brother?”

“More likely he’ll just give us free drinks. It is Nick’s place, after all.”

Buffy didn’t move until they were out of sight—didn’t trust herself to do more than stand there, shaking with fury, cold tears running down her cheeks. It had been a long time, a damn long time, since she and Spike had fought about something that mattered. He was reckless and hardheaded, and didn’t always think before leaping into stupid situations, but when push came to shove, he knew her well enough to know what the right call was. She told others she was his soul when they asked, and she meant it, because she knew it was the truth.

But this…

“Buffy?” Kelly ran a hand up her arm. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Buffy said thickly, wiping her eyes. “I’m really, really not.”

Nothing for a moment. “You should know that, had they told me, I would’ve agreed with them. And if that makes you mad at me, fine, but it’s the truth. And yeah, I don’t like Faith. I probably never will. That doesn’t mean I wish her dead…but if it’s her or you or Rosie? You better believe it. No contest.”

“I don’t want to die, Kel. When I thought it wasn’t me, I was relieved.” Buffy sniffed, wiping at her eyes again. “I didn’t want to make that decision. Or any decision. I wanted to be off the hook.”

“So stay off the hook. We’re the only people who know and it can stay that way.”

Buffy shook her head, somewhat horrified that Kelly would suggest it. Entirely horrified with this whole thing. “I don’t get to decide whose life is worth more. And even if I did, doesn’t the fact that God brought Faith back mean he’s kinda in her corner?”

“Or maybe he brought her back for _this_. We don’t know. Could be he saw what was coming and decided to give us one for free.”

“You know I can’t let her shoulder this alone.”

“Why not?” Kelly snapped, tears now brimming in her eyes. “Be selfish once in your life.”

“Because when I’m selfish, when I put me first, people die.” Buffy held up a hand to stave off the oncoming protest. “I’m not saying I’m… I’m not saying I’m going to wrestle Faith for the honor of kicking the bucket, but it’s not fair to saddle all of this on her. And it sure as hell isn’t fair for the people I love, the man I’m mated to, to keep me in the dark about things that affect others.”

“Yes, because loving you is such a crime.” Kelly shook her head, gazing off in the direction the boys had disappeared. “I need a drink, too. You think you can manage to get back to the bunker without spilling blood?”

“Kel—”

“You have a family. Faith doesn’t. You have people who love you. Faith doesn’t. I know I’m biased and I know that makes me unreliable, but those are facts. Actual cold, hard facts.”

“Rosalie loves her, Kel. And she already had to watch her die once.”

“So she should know how to handle it.”

Buffy took a step back, needing distance like nothing else. This was a side of Kelly she’d never seen before—one she understood was born from a place of love and worry, and yes, some lingering, bitter resentment, but she couldn’t handle it at the moment. Not on top of learning Spike had intentionally kept her in the dark about something this important.

“Go get your drink,” she said, a bit harsher than she intended, and started in the direction of the bunker.

For the first time since she’d become a vampire, since she’d awakened in Spike’s arms, she wasn’t sure they were going to share a bed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. She loved the man with every fiber of her being, and having nearly watched him die the night before, she understood his fierce protectiveness. Even his selfishness—something he’d never been good at keeping in check. But the big things… The big things, she’d come to expect more from him.

She also wasn’t sure she could sleep without him, even if she decided they needed a night apart. And the thought of trying almost scared her more than the thought of dying again.

*~*~*

Faith awoke to a looping DVD screen, being cuddled to her next life by her ducky. And for a moment, she was content to remain there, clutched to Dean’s chest, the soft rhythm of his breaths breezing through her hair. It was different here than it was when he got extra cuddly in bed—there was less room, and he seemed to be holding onto her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he relaxed his grip.

She was about as comfortable as she’d ever been, and the temptation was strong to just surrender and fall asleep here…but then she thought of the looks Nick and Rosalie had been shooting her since she returned and her stomach tightened. No, better to make their way back to the bedroom. Give the illusion that it was all about the fucking.

Dean tightened his grip on her when she made to move—not so much that she couldn’t get to her feet, but enough to make the place in her chest that had been hollow most of her life feel like it might burst. And that was the rub. Ordinarily, Faith didn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thought and she preferred it that way. But also, ordinarily, Faith didn’t have anything to lose. She could take the snide comments from Dawn, the passive aggressiveness from Kelly, even the stink-eye from Sam, but from the people who knew her best, the knowing smirks grated. It told her they knew she was vulnerable on a level she hadn’t been before, and while that might be just hi-fucking-larious for the peanut gallery, it scared the shit out of her. Having that fear rubbed in her face at every possible interval was more than a little taxing. It was like they knew she’d hurt if this thing with Dean fell apart and were preemptively celebrating the fact.

That much wasn’t fair—hell, it was downright paranoid—but she couldn’t keep the thought from existing. Being this exposed made a lifetime of crazy thoughts suddenly seem a lot less crazy. Which was its own brand of terrifying, because the last time her crazy thoughts hadn’t seemed crazy, she’d helped a maniac turn into a giant snake. Granted, this was crazy on a different level. A personal level, an intimate level, and the stakes felt even higher.

Richard Wilkins III had nurtured every bad thought she’d ever had about herself and molded it into a weapon. Taken the pain of her past, her feelings of inadequacy, her self-loathing and twisted it until his version of right sounded less insane. Dean was bringing out the opposite, and that, perhaps was what scared her the most. Self-loathing felt right, natural. Knowing all of her sins and not giving a shit, accepting who she was despite who she’d been and liking her anyway? Yeah, that was…

Well, that was the reason Nick and Rosalie’s smug faces deserved a sound kicking every time they made a big deal about something she’d never had before. Because at any time, Dean could decide that his dark plus her dark was too fucking dark and that they should cut it off before things became more serious. And hadn’t she been down this road before? Hadn’t that been the exact explanation she’d given Wes as to why they wouldn’t have worked in the long haul, even if he hadn’t sold her up the river?

But that wasn’t fair, either. Wes’s darkness had been external—his hatred for others, not himself. His desperation to seek revenge had driven him and he’d latched onto her because she’d mistaken his pain for something other than what it was. Dean seemed to genuinely like her, which…yeah, made everything real on a level it had never been before.

All the more reason not to be caught snuggling. If this thing with Dean went sideways, she didn’t need everyone knowing how much pain she was in.

“Ducky,” she said softly, running her hand up and down his arm. “Bedtime?”

He didn’t stir. Not even when she tickled his elbow, which she’d learned was rather sensitive.

“Dean.” A bit louder this time. “Dean Ducky Winchester, move your cute ass to your bedroom.”

Nothing. This time, she gave his shoulder a slight shove. Then a harder one. This guy was seriously out.

Faith sighed and glanced at the door. No sounds of life. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep—either long enough that everyone else had called it a night or people were still out patrolling or tending bar.

“All right, Ducky. I’ll let you play damsel this once,” she muttered, and slid one arm under his back and the other at his legs.

When she lifted him, she half-expected him to open his eyes and give her that mischievous wink she was coming to love, but he didn’t so much as grunt. Either was the world’s best faker or someone had roofied him. Or, the most likely, he hadn’t rested up from his injuries the night before. She got the feeling that Dean wasn’t a guy who grabbed a full eight hours each night, anyway. Maybe his body was trying to tell him something.

She’d almost made it to his room—their room—when someone caught her in the act. Buffy rounded the corner, looking just shy of miserable, and stopped dead when she saw them.

_Not a word, B. Not one fucking word._

Buffy tilted her head—a habit she had to have picked up from Spike—and nodded at the dozing Winchester. “He doesn’t look bruised, so I’m gonna guess you didn’t knock him out.”

“Boy’s exhausted. Fell asleep on me.” Faith jutted her chin toward the door. “Gonna just stand there or help a girl out?”

Buffy pressed her lips together, and for a second Faith thought a barb or a smirk was coming her way, but instead, she moved and opened the door. “I need to talk to you,” she said as Faith stepped over the threshold. “Can you… After you get him situated?”

Faith grunted an agreement and walked her ducky to his bed. When she lowered him and made to move away, he stirred for the first time, making grabby hands and trying to pull her down with him. That place in her chest warmed again.

“I’ll be back, Ducky,” she said softly and kissed his brow. At this he relaxed and fell back against the pillows, dead to the world.

When Faith joined Buffy in the hall, she found her sister slayer looked amused.

“Ducky?”

Shit. Stupid vamp hearing. “It’s a thing. Inside joke.”

She expected Buffy to laugh or gloat, but she didn’t. Instead, her eyes welled with tears. “It’s serious, isn’t it? You and him?”

“Well, B, I wasn’t gonna wait around for you forever.” She meant to keep her tone light and airy, drive the bad joke home, but her nerves had the words sounding more barked than spoken.

Buffy pressed her lips together, then nodded at the hall. “Let’s get a drink.”

Damn. Whatever was on B’s mind must be heavy. Almost against her will, Faith felt herself relaxing.

A few minutes later, they were at the small table in the kitchen, Buffy having poured herself a glass of red wine, mixed with red blood cells, and Faith cracked open a beer. For a moment, they said nothing, leaving Faith to listen to the thumps of her heart.

“Before you came back,” Buffy said at last, keeping her gaze on the table, “Dean was… Well, I’ve always liked him but he was kind of a dick.”

Faith snorted into her bottle. “Ain’t much changed there.”

“No. No, Faith, a _lot _has changed. Really fast, too. I mean he was growly with everyone. He didn’t hang out with us much, never laughed, seemed to resent the fact that we were here. I hadn’t known them all that long before we moved in, but he went from being a goofball to Mr. Antisocial.” She swallowed. “Really after Sam was asked by the Watchers Council to become Ro’s Watcher. I think he started to feel obsolete around here. He didn’t know slayers existed until he met me and I think… I think it kinda took his purpose away. Like why bother if supercharged chicks exist. And then he didn’t make the A-team when his little brother did. I know how I’d feel if that were Dawn. Then suddenly you were here and… I dunno, he changed. He’s been more like the Dean I met. Goofing around, laughing, having fun. He _cares _again. More than he did, even, before the Watchers Council stuff happened.” Buffy took another swig of her wine. “You’re the reason. If he hasn’t told you that, it’s all kinds of obvious.”

Faith was still for a moment, her mind dragging her back to last night. To the things Dean had confessed to her as he’d cried, and she felt her own eyes sting a bit. “In other words, don’t fuck it up.”

“No. In other words, you’re not alone in whatever you feel for him.”

“Who says I feel anything?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Who are you talking to here? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Yeah, well, we haven’t exactly been BFFs.” But then Faith thought again to the thing Buffy had told her not too long ago—that she wanted to be friends. Make amends for all the shit that had come before, and she realized she was falling back on old habits. B wasn’t Nick and she wasn’t Ro, and while she had been a bit smug when she’d first started making comments about her and Dean, there was none of that in her face now.

Faith tossed back another mouthful of beer, trembling. “Yeah,” she said at last, her voice scratchy. “So I’m in it. We had a deal, him and me. After we fucked that first night and seemed to go good together. And unlike every other guy I’ve been with, he didn’t make me wanna pop him in the mouth to shut him up. It freaked me out ‘cause me and Wes…”

Buffy held up a hand, wrinkling her nose. “A world of gross there. Sorry.”

“Says she who bones the evil undead.”

At that, Buffy’s face fell and she looked away. “Spike and I are…different.”

“Yeah. Figured that much.” Faith figured there was more of a story there, a reason as to why B had looked about ready to cry when she’d first rounded that corner, but she didn’t want to stop just yet. Talking about this thing with Ducky was oddly…nice. As was the complete lack of judgment from the other side of the table so far. Maybe she could push her luck. “When we hooked up again on that first hunt, we came up with an arrangement. A fuck-until-we-don’t-wanna anymore kinda thing. Kinda like what I had with Nick, but…also not at all like that ‘cause…”

“’Cause you gave a shit?” Buffy ventured, her features smoothing out once more.

“Yeah. And he didn’t wanna share me.”

“So an exclusive deal to bone only each other until you decided to not anymore. You realize you’re his girlfriend, right?”

“More to relationships than boning, B.”

“Faith, trust me on this. You’re his girlfriend. You two are in a relationship. Like, a real relationship.”

Faith fought back the instinctive surge of pure fucking panic at that—her old defenses rearing to the forefront. But then she did something she’d never done—she let the panic do its thing, rock her insides, but when she got to the other side, there was nothing but calm. And that warmth she’d felt earlier when he’d had his arms around her in the rec room. And all of the interactions they’d had that hadn’t involved sex. How relieved he’d been when she opened her eyes after Willow’s attack, how pissed she’d been when she’d learned how hurt he’d let himself get, that fucking game of truth or dare, how she kept trying to scare him away and he kept trying to scare her away and neither one of them were scared for shit. She thought about the need that had possessed her earlier when he’d exploded in the training room, the instinct to go to him and do whatever she could to make it better. Let him throw shit. Let him fuck her. Let him hate her if it made him feel better. And the conversation she’d had with herself after that—that there was no part of him she’d encountered that made her want to run the other way. At the time, she’d wondered if that was the darkness that made her a fucking magnet for creeps like Lucifer, but maybe it wasn’t. Because when she was with Dean, she didn’t feel dark. She didn’t feel judged. She didn’t feel anything other than free. And herself—a self she hadn’t seen in years, if she’d ever known what it looked like in the first place.

“Damn, B,” Faith said, huffing a short laugh, “like I wasn’t scared shitless before.”

“I know.” And from Buffy’s voice, she did know. Hell, she had to, didn’t she? Maybe better than anyone. Faith knew the details of the circumstances that had brought B and Spike together, but even with all of that under consideration, falling for a guy who used to want you dead and trusting him to catch you? Not only that—_keep _catching you every time you slipped? She figured there was nothing scarier than that.

“I am, you know,” Faith went on. “Scared shitless. Dunno if I’ve ever been scared like this.”

“Because he could hurt you.”

The words made the possibility seem less theoretical and more inevitable. “Yeah.”

“I know.”

“And…” Faith sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “And it’s like people are just waiting for me to fuck up. Or to get hurt. Nick and Ro—I love them, I do—but the bigger deal they make out of this, the more it hurts. Because they seem so fucking happy that Faith has feelings, so they’ll know just how much I’ll hurt when it blows up in my face. I don’t do weak well, B.”

“They wouldn’t make fun of you if you got hurt.”

“I know. _They_ wouldn’t. But they’d know.” She paused. “But your sister? Kelly? Xander and Anya? I’m no one’s favorite slayer around here. I know you love ‘em and I get it, but they’d throw a fucking parade.”

Buffy had the good sense not to argue. Instead, she gave a short nod and took a long sip of wine. “Yeah, well, you’ve made a lot of people mad.”

“Yeah. Keep telling Dean that, too. Doesn’t seem to sink in with the boy.” Faith worked her throat again. “Would you believe I ain’t that person anymore?”

“Faith, you sacrificed yourself to save the Slayer line. To save _Rosalie_. You haven’t been that person in a long time. Yeah, you made mistakes, but you didn’t… You haven’t set out to hurt anyone since you turned yourself in.”

Fuck, she really was going to cry. It meant a lot that anyone had noticed that—that B was the one to say it, though?

“And the PTB doesn’t choose just anyone,” Buffy went on. “They choose who they think is worthy.” She lifted a shoulder. “The past is smoke as far as I’m concerned.”

“When’d you get so fucking zen?”

“Around the time I accepted the fact that I am in love with a soulless slayer-killing vampire who introduced himself to me by announcing his intention to make me of the dead,” Buffy replied, her tone somewhat dry. “So I guess the past isn’t smoke—I remember who he was then to appreciate who he is now. And I can’t ever forget what he’s done. Neither can he…but we don’t let it define who he is.” At this, she broke off, her eyes hardening. “Most of the time.”

Faith perked her eyebrows. “Uh oh. Trouble in mated paradise?”

“Spike recruited Zack to keep me in the dark about something. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “We think, color test aside, my blood will work just fine to open or close the Hellmouth. Spike drank from me last night after his tangle with Lucifer and healed up too fast. Slayer blood would do that but not vamp blood. Not even human blood. So it’s off you now.”

Faith sat with this for a long moment. There was no relief to be had in the news. If anything, her dread compounded. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“And Spike was gonna keep you none the wiser?”

“To make sure, if it comes down to it, that you’re the one who has to jump.”

“And…you’re mad at him?”

Buffy raised her eyes, her own reflecting shock. “Aren’t you? He volunteered you to die.”

“Well, not sayin’ that part makes me wanna do cartwheels, but I get it. He loves you.” In a way that had been lonely to watch not so long ago. A strong, unmovable way that was permanent not just because they were mates, but because they were _them_. A way that Faith realized she wanted to experience herself, and holy hell if that didn’t about knock her out of her seat. She shook her head and forced herself to remain focused on the issue at hand. “That why you’re all sad-face slayer tonight? Your hubby wants you to live? Gotta say, B, that sounds like the kinda problem that isn’t one.”

“I know he loves me. It’s just that he could…keep something like that from me. That he was so cavalier with killing you. That death at all is something he can think about like this.” She shook her head. “I know it’s because he’s vampire. Or I thought I did. But Zack and Kelly were both firmly on Team Buffy.”

“More people who love you. Big fuckin’ shock.”

“That’s their argument. That I have too many people who love me.”

Faith followed that thought to its natural conclusion. “And I got diddly.”

“You have Rosalie and Nick. And Dean.”

“Dean doesn’t love me.” The thought had her heart somersaulting. “I can accept that you might be right and we’re in a relationship, even if we haven’t exactly had that conversation and I don’t know if we will, we sure as hell ain’t gonna start throwing around words like love.”

The look that Buffy gave her said, “Yeah. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Which made Faith self-conscious all over again. She grabbed her beer and tossed the rest of it back. 

“I don’t wanna die again,” Faith heard herself say. “Wasn’t too wild about it the first time, but it felt right. Like I was doing something that mattered. Not saying that keeping Hell from opening up here doesn’t matter, but…”

“You were done before. You’re not now.”

Faith nodded. Nick and Rosalie hadn’t needed her. They loved her, sure, but their future was each other. She had been the easiest piece to remove. And dying then had meant they could live—have a shot at what they’d become together.

Dying now meant leaving someone she cared about behind. She wasn’t done anymore. Hell, part of her felt like she was just getting started. 

“I don’t want to die, either,” Buffy said. “Just for the record. I’ve… Ever since I turned, I’ve been living. Yeah, there’s bad there and again, but it’s in the middle of so much good I still sometimes wonder if Angelus didn’t really kill me. And I don’t know what will happen with Spike. If he’d get to follow me to Heaven, presuming that’s where I go, and if he couldn’t even I’d… I don’t want to think about that.”

They were silent a long minute. 

“So, B, here’s how I see it,” Faith said, leaning forward. “Neither one of us is taking that dive.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. We keep talkin’ about this line it’s a done deal, you or me. It ain’t. Spike sure as fuck won’t let you jump and considering how well Dean took it when I talked about it, he ain’t gonna be a team player, either. So it’s off the table. We stop thinking of it as a backup.”

“So essentially what the others have been saying since we found out.”

“Yeah, but without one of us in the back pocket. You and I knew we were the secret weapon so we had kinda just accepted it. Fuck that.”

Buffy nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Fuck that.”

“There you go, B.” Faith rose to her feet. “More on that tomorrow. This kitty is going to bed.”

“Kitty, huh?”

She raised her hand, curling her fingers. “And she got claws.”

“Believe me, I know.” Buffy rose to her feet as well, then surprised the hell out of her by giving her a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Faith released another long breath before giving in and hugging her back. “You ain’t bad, B. Any reason we didn’t do the girl talk thing sooner?”

“Well, you were evil for a while.”

“Ah, right.” Faith released her and took a step back. “Don’t go too hard on Blondie.”

“I’ll try.”

Faith followed Buffy down the maze of halls until she reached Dean’s room. Then she was in the familiar dark, stripping down to her panties and her tank top. It didn’t occur to her until she was climbing into bed that this would be the first time since they’d started their arrangement that they wouldn’t be fucking themselves into a coma. They’d never just slept together without it being post-coital. This was enough to make her second-guess herself before deciding to stop fighting so much. She slipped into bed beside him. 

The second she touched the mattress, Dean curled around her like he had been waiting.

“Ducky?”

He didn’t reply, just buried his face in her hair, inhaled, then let out a gentle snore. And she felt herself relax, warm and content.

Yeah, B had it right. Whether or not they’d actually admit it to each other was another thing.

But that was a question for tomorrow.

*~*~*

Buffy felt a bit lighter when she dragged herself across the threshold of the room she shared with Spike. Some of her anger had faded, but the rest refused to budge. No matter what she and Faith had decided, that didn’t change the fact that Spike had kept something important from her. And after years of relying on each other, trusting each other, this hurt.

She went through the motions of getting ready for bed. The bed that looked much too large and lonely. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to get any sleep without him there.

After stalling as long as she possibly could, Buffy sighed and pulled out her cellphone, hoping to see a missed call from him. Instead, she had a text message from Wright, with an accompanying video.

_Wright: IDK WTH happened with you two, but I haven’t seen him like this since Lindsey told him you were dead. Make it better, Buffy._

The video showed a very drunk Spike on the stage, his head downcast. In a few seconds, the music started, and he began singing.

_“When you were here before…couldn't look you in the eye. You're just like an angel. Your skin makes me cry. You float like a feather in a beautiful world. And I wish I was special. You're so fuckin' special.”_ He closed his eyes, and she saw him tighten his hands around the mic stand, his jaw working. _“But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.”_

Buffy released a deep breath, her eyes flooding with tears again. She wanted to stop watching but couldn’t.

_“I don't care if it hurts. I want to have control. I want a perfect body.” _He paused, swallowed, and the next line came out strangled. _“I want a perfect soul. I want you to notice…when I'm not around. You're so fuckin' special. I wish I was special. But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here?”_

His throat worked again, and a tear spilled down his cheek. _“I don't belong here.”_

Then it was time for the bridge, and even though she knew the words, she wasn’t prepared for Spike’s normally deep voice to hit a perfect falsetto, or how much it sounded so much like a pained cry. _“She's running out again. She's running out. She's run, run, run…” _A deep breath before he belted out the final, _“Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.”_

There was a music break, during which Spike stared at the ground, swaying drunkenly. But even then he had such control—much more than anyone else would give him credit for. And when it cued him back in, he was ready.

_“Whatever makes you happy,”_ he sang softly, now sounding a bit numb. _“Whatever you want.”_ He sniffed. _“You're so fuckin' special. I wish I was special. But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.”_ He looked up. _“I don't belong here.”_

Buffy stared at the image of her mate for a long time. Then she played the video again. And again. And again, until the haunting sound of Spike’s voice lulled her to sleep.


	51. Chapter 51

Sam felt as though he was lining up for a firing squad. In his underwear. The humiliation of being caught sleeping with the enemy—potentially and becoming convincingly less likely—was awkward when it had been Donna. Now it was _everyone_.

Donna, Josh and Toby were expected. Hermione, Harry and Ron were somewhat surprising given the hour, but weren’t any shock. Mr. Giles and Sam Winchester staring at him through the webcams on the computer in his study was downright degrading.

His embarrassment mixed with anger at the whole situation. “Are we waiting for the reporter from _The Sacramento Bee_ or shall we start?” Sam heard the bitter edge to his tone. Good, maybe this would end quicker.

“_Seriously?_” Toby barked. “You want us to call _The Bee_? I’ll _call_ the fucking _Bee_. I’ll tell them to get their asses right over and throw you the fuck out. I’ll tell them you lost your goddamn mind and you need to be yanked out of office and thrown into a fucking padded room!”

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered after a difficult moment of silence.

“Wanker,” Ron mumbled under his breath.

Sam took a deep breath and summoned all his strength to keep his voice calm and quiet—if anything for the fact his baby boy had fallen back asleep and was upstairs in his crib. “I assume this is the consensus among the members of this meeting?”

“Sam,” Donna began, “don’t think we don’t understand the complicated situation you’re in, but—”

“But _what_, exactly?” Sam demanded.

Josh stepped between Sam and Donna like he feared he might try and hurt his pregnant fiancé and Sam’s current best friend. “But you just obviously had sex with Lucifer’s witch—who is currently in the process of opening a door to Hell!”

Sam shook his head. “No, Willow is working to lock it from ever opening.”

“We don’t know that,” Hermione said, soft and slow. “All evidence indicates the opposite.”

“What evidence, exactly?” He said throwing his hands up with most of his patience. “I mean actual authentic documentation here in black and white that indicates that Willow is working with the devil and not the archangel Michael. Where is it written that this _isn’t _the spell for locking it up? Or that there is any proof that this isn’t all a trick to keep us from allowing Willow and Michael to do God’s work?”

“Dude,” Winchester said in condescension unbefitting a man wearing a wife beater and sporting the worst bedhead Sam had seen in real life. “Did Lucifer speak to you? This is what he’s telling Willow, isn’t it? Dean is the Antichrist?”

Giles scoffed. “Mr. Seaborn, I assure you that beside multiple personal eyewitness accounts and testimonies—from individuals I irrefutably trust and would vouch everything to defend.” He paused and gave Winchester an almost paternal look of adoration. “I have three texts—one of which dates back nearly a thousand years—stating precisely that the blood of the Slayer is the key to opening the Hellmouth, as well as two books citing that salt touched by God himself is an ingredient as well.”

“But is that the original text or an alteration?” Sam looked to Hermione and Harry. “Have you even verified the books? Tested them for any magic that changed the authors’ words?”

Winchester shook his head. “That’s ludicrous! The place is practically owned by two Legacies of the Men of Letters. Under no circumstance including death would Dean or I disgrace the memories of the men and women who lived and died to write those words down to save the world. Aside from the fact that it’s ridiculous to think Dean, Cas or I wouldn’t notice Lucifer walking around the bunker. There’s reasons why we make sure the place is never left completely empty. This bunker,” he said, gesturing, “holds one of the world’s largest archives of the known records on Heaven, Hell, Purgatory and all the bad in between. People would literally _die_ before letting Lucifer touch a page.”

“Unless someone there has already pledged allegiance to Lucifer and changed the words themselves.”

Giles barked a laugh, looking completely befuddled. “You’re suggesting someone here—Dean, I hilariously presume—is a secret agent to the devil?”

“I _was_ exaggerating about the padded room,” Toby mumbled with bewilderment.

“Got any tattoos or brands, Winchester?” Sam interrogated the witness. “Anything you’d like to show the group?”

The man blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Is it not true you and/or your brother have a very pronounced brand or tattoo on your chest?”

A light of realization reflected in Winchester’s eyes before he cocked his head and folded his arms. “Are you attempting to insinuate that the symbols on either of our chests are in some sorta allegiance to heil Satan?”

“Are you acknowledging to the court that you two do in fact have such markings?”

Winchester huffed and pushed his chair back from the table. Standing, he quickly tore his tank over his head before sitting back down with a grunt. There in dark black ink was the symbol almost perfectly as described by Willow. He gave everyone a chance to react.

“That doesn’t look good.” Ron’s voice was pitched higher than normal.

“What _is_ that symbol?” Hermione sounded both hesitant and fascinated.

“Anti-possession symbol,” Winchester said in a dry tone. He turned to Giles with a note of desperation. “Show them yours, please?”

Giles sighed and shifted in his chair to flash his bicep to the camera. He raised his sleeve and revealed the same black tattoo. “Its function is to prevent one from becoming possessed by a demon unwittingly.”

“I’d let _him_ possess me full wittingly,” Donna muttered aloud.

Even Sam paused to look at her in shock. “Not _him_!” Donna exclaimed as she pointed at the screen. “The other _him_!” Then she covered her mouth in abject mortification as realized what she’d said.

Giles cleared his throat and threw a small smirk at Winchester as he moved back to his original position. “Yes, well, that information is more general knowledge than anything we’ve discussed. You can summon sources across the world in a variety of languages to verify it. It has no relationship to Lucifer whatsoever.”

“Not like that maybe,” Sam conceded without any objection. “But what if it’s inverted?” That part had stuck with Sam the most because, to him, it was the creepiest. “What does that say about your brother, Winchester?”

The man looked visibly shaken by the question. Sam felt a cocky smile forming on his face.

“Uhh, it means basically the same thing.”

“Please define the word _basically_.”

Winchester ran a hand through his shaggy mane, making it look a little better in Sam’s opinion. “Dean’s tattoo is still a functional anti-possession symbol. It inverted for a reason not pertaining to the conversation.” He finished no longer flustered, but offended.

“Hate to pry, mate,” Harry said tentatively. “But in this case I would say all information is necessary. Dean has an upside down pentagram on his chest?”

“He wasn’t _possessed _by a demon,” Winchester said after a minute’s contemplation.

“Then what?” Ron seemed ready for a straight answer.

Sam flashed a pained look at Giles before staring at the screen and sighing. “Dean died and came back as a demon. _Briefly!_” he added with force. “He was made human again by a very painful and dangerous process of slowly giving him transfusions of human blood over a period of time.” His eyes were ablaze. “Which I had to do _myself_ to my brother as he begged in agony for me to stop.”

“It still doesn’t disprove Dean is not working for Lucifer.”

Winchester leaned forward as his voiced lowered into a dangerous growl. “You have no fucking right to stand there and accuse my brother—Dean, who fucking sacrificed his fucking life to save this world and is twice the man you could ever hope to be—of working for _Lucifer_. The same Lucifer who used me to try and destroy the world Lucifer. The Lucifer my brother would sit here and smile and blow his own brains out right now if it meant he would be dead or locked away forever. My brother might do a lot of stupid things, but never do that, Mr. Seaborn.”

“Governor,” Sam snapped. “_Governor _Seaborn. Something everyone—especially my staff,” he said, casting a hateful glare toward them, “should do well to remember. You are only allowed in this house—this _state_—by my own discretion. I’m to the point of having you all removed from my residence.”

“Governor,” Hermione said. “Please forgive me, but what exactly are you wanting to settle this and get to the greater matter at hand—what was Willow doing here tonight with you and Oz?”

“Verify the books,” Sam responded. “And verify the symbol and use truth serum on the supposed witnesses.”

“You want us to use Veritaserum on Sam, Dean, and Faith?” Ron questioned. “You barking mad, mate? That’s as serious a potion as anything you can imagine. You don’t just give a drop and answer a couple questions. Its effects could last for days on Muggles. Not sure it’s ever been done.”

“What?” Winchester cried. “_Hell_ _no_. Go ahead and kick me out of California. I don’t live there anyway, asshole!”

“Samuel,” Giles said turning his head to berate the guy. “Honestly, if this is a matter of protecting the girls and the Hellmouth, you have to follow your oath and put your slayer first.”

Winchester wrinkled his nose and pouted. “But that? Isn’t verifying the other stuff good enough?”

“No,” Sam declared. “It’s not.” He looked over to the witch and wizards. “Let me know when you know any information. In the meantime, I’m getting my son and going to bed. If anyone here tries anything that endangers the life of either me or my son—or threatens my career”—he looked over at his currently questionable friends—“I will have you arrested.”

He pushed himself past everyone and stormed out the door. He heard the conversation resume before he had walked from earshot. “And to anyone who wondered,” Josh said, “_that_ is the guy I want as my president. Not only did he manage to avoid saying anything about Willow, he somehow turned us into the bad guys. Wrong or not, that was some grade A courtroom drama. Did you go to law school, Winchester?”

Fuck if Sam cared if Winchester was a Supreme Court justice. Until proven otherwise, nobody would slander his Willow.

*~*~*

Dean stared up toward the ceiling, envisioning what it looked like in the dark. His mind woke up firing on full cylinders, feeling clearer and more focused than it had in forever. There was so much happening—Lucifer and Willow, the Hellmouth and the slayer blood, a brand new witchy sister, Sam and Dawn with their petty bullshit, and Faith—and Faith was dominating most of his thinking. Not only the fear of possibly losing her, but the fear of what that fear meant—about Faith and himself.

Yeah, he couldn’t sit still. He was twitching his leg with a restless need to do something. Something productive. After slipping out of bed, he quietly retrieved a book from his nightstand before quietly exiting his room.

How the _fuck_ had he ended up in his room? He looked at the door he’d just shut behind him to his fully clothed body, sans shoes. Wiggling his toes, he cocked his head and tried to figure out how he’d gone from the Dean-Cave to his bed and without remembering. He’d drunk one beer last night. _One._

Giving up on the mystery, realizing Faith could have roofied him for all he knew, he took off to the library. Given the silence, he was reasonably confident he’d have the place to himself. It’d be nice to have a moment of privacy without being in his room or on the shitter. His home had turned into a fucking zoo.

Padding across the cold marble floor, he stepped down into the library and made his way over to his favorite section. The snobs at the Watchers Council thought that all the real information came boring old ancient textbooks. They were arrogant and wrong. Dean knew where the real truth could always be found—the journals of the hunters and the guys who were there living all the shit that made those books possible. He highly doubted anyone thought that reading through these personal accounts of history could potentially hold the key to this whole damn thing. Any single one of these diaries could hold the secret. Grabbing a couple of the Campbell journals he knew were particularly detailed, along with a few others he’d remembered really enjoying, he went and sat himself down at one of the tables.

First order of business was looking into the personal account of one John Winchester dating back to 1991 Chicago. He flipped the pages until he found the start of the entries. There was Nora’s name along with brief descriptions of various encounters in search of a Deanne wizard. Dean kept seeing the word _alone_ pop up as his dad described him and Nora. It was obviously code for _fucking_, Dean realized with a humorless chuckle.

“If it’s funny, I really want to read it.”

Dean nearly screamed like a girl. He did jump in his chair and hiss. “Fucking vampires and your fucking dead silence,” he growled as he spun around toward Buffy’s voice. “I know you’re fanged and deadly, but lurking in the shadows is fucking creepy.”

He’d expected Spike to chime in by now, but he didn’t. Instead, Buffy slowly rose from the comfy chair she’d been in off to the side and walked over to sit across him at the wooden table. “Sorry,” she said with an eye roll.

He looked around the room. “Where’s your bodyguard? Thought you might have some sort of invisible leash attached to keep him from doing something extra stupid in your absence.”

Buffy gave his a look that immediately made him regret his mouth. The telltale signs of a fight were written all over her face. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You okay?”

She gave a curt nod, staring down at the opened leather binder. “What is that? And are you actually researching?” She folded her arms and leaned forward on the table in attempt to examine his books.

“What?” he asked defensively. “Did you think I couldn’t read or something? I got a damn GED, thank you very much.”

“No,” she said looking up at him as she rested her chin on her hands after bracing her arms upon the table. “I just meant that I’ve never seen you voluntarily researching.”

“Well, I highly doubt the Watcher boys have thought about looking at the real source materials. It’s the hunters and the slayers and the ones out their saving the world that are the real history. Yeah, you might get some information from those ancient scrolls and shit, but the ones who made them possible are where all the best answers are.”

“Damn,” Buffy said in response. “I said you’d changed, but I’ve never met this guy. I kinda see what she sees in you now.”

“Huh?” His mind went blank. Was that a Faith insult or a Faith compliment?

“I mean with the passion and the logic and the really good explanation—it’s kinda hot on you. The whole badass, but bookish hunter vibe.” She reached across the table and snatched one of the Campbell journals. “So why you starting with these?”

Dean shrugged, ignoring the fact Buffy had kinda just weirded him out. “That one is Elijah Campbell—he was alive during the time Cassandra Hart was around. My family were all hunters—who lived in Lawrence, Kansas—and it makes sense he may have been near Lebanon whenever the Hellmouth last opened. This one,” he said, laying a hand on the book, “was my father’s. Read it cover to cover over a hundred times, but I never knew anything about slayers until I met you. Haven’t read it since, but there’s always little hints mixed in with any case report. Something that came off as meaningless can go to a whole other level with a little back-story.”

“You’ve studied these,” Buffy said, pushing herself up and giving him a look of surprised admiration. “Not just _these_,” she said, motioning to the table before pointing over to the shelf. “I mean you’ve actually sat down and read a bunch of these, haven’t you?”

Dean felt a damn blush warm his cheeks. “You say that like it’s some kind of big deal?”

“Well, it kinda is. Like you said, you’ve studied the personal accounts of the actual ones who saved the world. That’s some major level insight you got there.”

Dean made a small noise of discontent. “Seriously, are you trying to flirt with me right now? Because you’re really making me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, good god, Dean. Have you never been given a compliment before?”

Dean stopped and actually pondered that. “If you don’t count my mom, never by a woman who didn’t want to have sex with me.”

Buffy snickered and shook her head. “You’re seriously Faith with a penis.”

“What do you mean?” Again, he was confused on the whole compliment and insult thing.

“You two both are quick to give some witty comeback instead of an open, honest answer. You both act like you don’t deserve to be considered smart or important or needed. And you both like going around telling yourselves you two aren’t totally a couple.”

“Couple?” He choked on the word. “You mean couple of people currently involved in an ongoing sexual arrangement?”

She rolled her eyes. “I knew it. I just knew I was going to have to break it to you, too. Again, Faith with a penis.” She looked at him and gave him a warm smile. “Dean, please explain to me what makes somebody a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Dean barked a laugh. “Seriously?” He chuckled. “That’s easy, B. That’s when you decide you care about someone and you don’t want anyone else. You definitely don’t share them with. Exclusive—with the sex and with each other. You don’t go round sharing each other’s shit with everyone. You trust them to have your back and you know they got yours no matter what.”

“So,” Buffy said slowly, “I’m just gonna sit here and let you think about everything you just said and how it might apply to Faith.”

Dean didn’t need to think about shit. He’d figured it out while he was speaking the words. “Son of a bitch,” he stammered. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Congratulations.” Buffy beamed at him. “You get the new job title of Faith’s Boyfriend. With that comes the obligatory and very real threat that if you ever hurt my slayer sister, I will kill you and hide your body where it will never be found.”

Dean erupted into a fit of giggles. “Faith’s Boyfriend?” This was possibly the coolest thing that had ever happened to him—and he’d fucking ganked _Hitler_. “Yeah? You think she likes me, too?”

“Oh my god, you’re adorable!” Buffy tittered. “You’ve never had a girlfriend!”

Dean’s laughter died off instantly as she seemed to take a jab. “Been pretty busy playing the field,” he quipped back.

“Faith hasn’t either.” She paused. “Girlfriend or boyfriend. So don’t go getting all up in your feels. You two get to embark on the rocky road of relationship together and equally self-conscious. Which I think may be the best thing for the two most self-consciously trying to pretend they aren’t self-conscious but totally self-conscious people I’ve ever met.”

Dean blinked. “Was that sentence fully conscious?”

“Shut up,” she teased. “Don’t pretend you didn’t get that.”

He gave her a shy smile and nodded. “Kay.” Fuck, part of him wanted to run away and hide and part of him wanted to run back to his room to wake up Faith and ask her if she wanted to go steady. He was such a fucking sap.

“You know you want to,” Buffy said, seeming to read his mind. “Go on. She’s gotta be well rested from lugging your sleeping beauty ass to bed last night.”

His eyes widened in realization. “She fucking _carried_ me?”

“Like a fucking baby?” Buffy smirked. “I caught her, _Ducky_.”

“Danger, Will Robinson,” he countered. “You’re entering into the realm where my boyfriend instincts tell you to shut the fuck up.”

“Secret’s safe with me.” She motioned to zip her lips. “Slayer sisters don’t play like that.”

He nodded his gratitude. Not that it wouldn’t humiliate the fuck out of him, but he knew that was something Faith had made an effort to keep private—a special little thing meant for them alone. She’d probably accidentally let the pet name slip out.

He looked down at the journals and suddenly lost interest in reading. “I think I’m going to go…take a walk.”

“A walk?” Buffy said with a wink.

Smiling, he winked back her. Then he stood up and made way to go see his girlfriend.

*~*~*

Sam hadn’t been able to sleep after that impromptu middle of the night meeting. He’d tried to take Giles’s advice and blow off the whole thing as some pathetic smokescreen Lucifer was using to manipulate Willow into thinking she was doing the right thing.

Leaning over, he gave Dawnie a soft kiss on the temple before giving up and getting out of bed. Quietly getting dressed, he decided to forget about finding rest and just get back to the important issue of figuring out a way to keep the Hellmouth from opening. Once they did that, everything else could be dealt with accordingly.

Sam was more than a little shocked to find Dean walking toward him when he hit the library steps. This would be as good a time as any to fill him in. “Not that I’m not totally surprised to see you,” he said to his brother with a blatant tone of bemusement, “but I really do need to talk to you.”

Dean groaned and shot him a look of contempt. “Believe it or not, I’m actually in a good mood for once in my life, so excuse me while I walk the fuck away now.”

He reached out and snatched his big brother by the arm as he attempted to go by him. “Dean, I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he spat. “And I swear as Buffy as my witness,” he said, gesturing over to where Sam now saw the woman sitting at a wooden desk, “if you say one more fucking word to me about _her_—if you even mutter her fucking _name_—I will beat you until I break something.” He huffed. “So you still wanna talk, Sammy?”

“Yes,” he snarled. “I do.” He grunted and stepped forward, walking over to where Buffy sat. “Harry and Hermione called Giles and me a few hours ago. Willow has been found and it’s been confirmed that Lucifer has her fully tricked into believing he’s Michael and that Dean Winchester is the fucking antichrist.”

“Wow.” Dean paused and gave Buffy a look. “I’m really getting hit with some big job titles today. Here I thought Michael’s true vessel sounded impressive. Antichrist would look pretty cool on a T-shirt.” He made a gesture of sweeping a hand across his chest. “Like, I really think I’m gonna pay to have that one on a shirt.” Again he glanced to Buffy, this time with a mischievous smirk. “Maybe just put the other one on some underwear.”

“I would pay for them if you’d wear them,” Buffy teased.

“You two are missing the point. Willow went tonight to Mr. _Governor _Sam Seaborn and convinced him that we’re all working with the bad guys here.”

“That’s just dumb,” Buffy said flatly. “Like easily disproven kinda dumb.”

“He’s demanding proof that Dean or Lucifer didn’t alter any of the books. He also somehow knows about your tattoo being inverted and thinks it’s a secret Lucifer swastika.” He gave a nod to his brother’s chest. “And he’s demanding you, Faith, and I take a truth potion polygraph.”

“Veritaserum?” Dean squawked. “No fucking way! Who fucking cares if the fucking governor of California believes us? What’s he gonna do? Bar us from Disneyland? Fuck him. That’s what Disney World is for.”

Buffy snickered as Sam shook his head. “Yeah, well, he’s a risk as long as he believes Lucifer could be Michael.”

“He’s really fucking not,” Dean grumbled. “Pretty sure as one of two of the human experts on the subject, I fucking know the difference between the two.”

“Kinda what I’m saying,” Sam agreed. “Their fucking vessels kinda know who’s who.”

“Just a little bit,” Dean retorted irritably.

“So yeah…get ready for _that_.”

“Wait,” Dean said holding up a hand. “Do we even know how Veritaserum works on Muggles?”

Sam blinked in surprise. How the fuck did his brother know to even ask that question?

“You watched me read the books,” Dean deadpanned. “I even put Gryffindor pajamas on my Amazon wish list. Come the fuck on, Sammy! Veritaserum!”

Sam couldn’t help but giving his brother a little smile. Dean always called him a nerd, but his big brother was even geekier than Nick underneath his gruff exterior. “Yes. _Veritaserum. _And according to Ron, they don’t really know how long it will affect us.”

Buffy cackled. “Sorry,” she said in a weak attempt to control herself before breaking off in a fit of laughter. “No, I’m not. The three of you magically stuck telling nothing but the truth for an indefinite amount of time?” Tears were forming in her eyes. “Oh god, I’m glad I don’t have to breathe.”

Dean looked at Sam with absolute pure dread. “That can’t happen, man. I mean that _seriously_ can’t happen to me right now. Not today.”

Sam was a little unsure what that fully meant. “Yeah, pretty sure it’s not going to be a picnic for any of us.” He cast a pointed glance over to the cheery vampire. “Or anyone who has seen Lucifer with their own eyes. Like Buffy and Spike.”

“Whoa,” Buffy said as her mood quickly shifted. “No, I’m pretty sure Spike and I would be overkill. Willow was there so she can tell Sam herself.”

Dean tossed her a dirty look. “I still think the guy oughta hear your version. With the burning and whatnot.”

“Don’t you have a _walk_, Mr. D?”

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “_Walk_. Right.” He looked at Sam. “That it? Any other bombshells? He want to bring in a Dementor or maybe just sink me and see if I’m a witch?”

“Not yet at least,” Sam replied.

“Great. Then to quote the legendary Charlie Bradbury, ‘peace out, bitches.’” Dean gave Buffy a wink before strolling off.

Sam was pretty astounded. Dean rarely talked about the closest members of their family they had lost—Dad, Bobby, Charlie, Kevin, Ellen or Jo—and he never was the first to invoke their memory aloud.

“Let him go,” Buffy said softly. “Really, pretty sure you did just enough damage there that he’s still got a buzz.”

Sam rolled his eyes. That explained it all. “So he’s just been up all night on a bender? Typical.”

Buffy stood up and narrowed her eyes. “My sister’s rubbing off on you and not in the kinky way, Sam.”

“No, watching my brother do this shit for over half my life gives me some insight into how he acts when he’s being a selfish jackass. Which is just fucking perfect when we’re standing here facing down another apocalypse.”

“If you pulled the stick out of your ass, maybe you’d see that Dean was in here researching.” She flipped her hand toward the table. “And my bet’s on him at the moment. Did _you_ think about the fact there was some dude named…” She reached over and grabbed a book from the desk. “Elijah Campbell who was a hunter here in Kansas the last time this opened? Because Dean did. Did you even think to look back over your dad’s writings for any clues? Because that’s what your brother was doing when I interrupted him for a chat.”

Buffy’s words cut him like a knife. He hadn’t thought about it at all—which was embarrassing, if not surprising. Dean had always had the mind of a true hunter and lore genius. A personal testimony from somebody who could have seen or heard an account of the Hellmouth’s last opening and closing could be the key to stopping this whole damn thing. He snatched the journal from her and sat down at the table.

“That’s what I thought,” Buffy snapped as she walked away.

Sam was too busy flipping open the diary to be too offended. There was work to do.


	52. Chapter 52

Spike had definitely slept in worse places, but after a decade of waking up curled around a certain slayer, he couldn’t say he much fancied stirring to life in the back room of a bloody karaoke bar. It took a moment for his noggin to fire up properly, throbbing as it was, then another to remember why it was, exactly, that he was waking up here and not in the bed he and the Slayer had made their own since becoming residents of bloody Kansas. Then there it was—the falling. That sodding awful sensation that had lured him into a drink too many, and then carried him to the back to catch some kip. He hadn’t wanted to chance not being welcomed into his own bed.

Buffy had been about as piping mad as he’d ever seen her last night. Wouldn’t surprise him if she decided to kick him to the bloody curb for the next stretch. While he doubted this would go so far as her looking up ways to undo a vampiric mating, he wasn’t keen on putting that to the test just yet.

Spike stretched and rose to his feet, which felt vaguely like jam, and made his way to the door. His ears told him the place was empty, which, on any other day, would be a bloody laugh. But didn’t think he could take more sauce at the moment, aside from the kind with red blood cells. Sobering up was the worst part of getting sloshed but he wagered it was necessary if he and the Slayer were to put this mess behind them.

Should have bloody figured she’d suss it out soon—hell, Zangy had predicted it. And they both had been bloody fools the night before, especially considering the ring she wore. Truth of the matter was, as often as he sank his fangs into her and vice versa, he had a way of forgetting the ring prevented normal scrapes and scratches. He wasn’t sure what exactly enabled him to bite her when nothing else could draw blood, but figured it either had to do with the fact that they were mates or that the Gem of Amara, off which their rings were based, had been about protecting vamps from means of being hurt or killed. Other vamp fangs wouldn’t qualify.

The only thing he’d been able to think of was the fact that Buffy bled fairly regularly. He hadn’t slowed down enough to consider the _how _or the _why_.

Spike shuffled his way to the office door and pulled it open. All was dark and quiet on the other side. He began making his way toward the storage room when his senses kicked into gear and he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. Then her scent hit his nostrils and he both wanted to fold in on himself and weep and find some nice, dark corner to stay in until he thought he could stomach what might come.

“Hello, Spike,” came the low, familiar drawl of Castiel.

He whirled around. The angel had his hand around Buffy’s arm. Buffy’s expression was stoic, but her eyes never lied. Especially when they were full of tears.

At once, he felt like the world’s largest wanker. All he wanted to do was wrap himself around her and beg her to forgive him, to stay, to not bloody jump—whatever it took.

“Buffy asked me to bring her here,” Castiel continued in his monotone. He turned to her. “Will you require assistance back to the bunker?”

“No,” she said, not taking her eyes off Spike. “We can walk together.”

Spike frowned, opened his mouth to protest.

“I have the ring, the sun, and you. I’ll be fine.” Buffy nodded to Castiel. “Thanks, Cas.”

“My pleasure,” the angel replied, then disappeared with the customary flap.

And then they were alone. An awkward, strained kind of alone that he hadn’t experienced in more than a decade. Spike ran a hand through his hair, pinning his gaze on the floor, searching for words but coming up empty. Couldn’t much say he was sorry, because he wasn’t. Or that he wouldn’t do it again, because he would. The only true thing he could think to tell her was that he loved her and would fight until he was dust to keep her right where she bloody was, no matter what it meant for them.

“You didn’t come home last night,” Buffy said. Apparently, she didn’t know what to say either, since she was starting with the bloody obvious.

“Wasn’t sure I’d have a place to sleep,” he replied. “Didn’t want to chance it.”

Buffy swallowed and nodded. “That’s what Wright said. That you were…”

“Tell me I was wrong to think it.”

“You weren’t. I didn’t know…” She shifted and rubbed her arms. “I just didn’t know. What you did…”

Hearing her acknowledge that she might have kept him from their bed was among the worst pains he could remember experiencing. There’d been when Dru had started shagging Angelus, when she’d kicked him to the curb for good, which themselves paled to the complete agony of entering that room and finding Buffy on the floor, her throat torn open and her heart pounding its last beats. Then when Zangy had gone bad and taken her again… Yeah, he’d thought that. Worried the bastard might dust her but had been fairly certain he wouldn’t. That his game had been to torment Spike and using Buffy to do it. That he’d managed it had hurt too.

But this was a different kind of hurt, which made it easier to bear and worse at the same time.

“Can’t say I’m sorry, love,” he said hoarsely. “’Cause I’m not. Know that makes me a monster to you.”

“I’m not sure what I wanted to say to you, to be honest. I’m still mad. I know why you did it and if faced with the same decision… I don’t know what I do. What I do know is that no matter what the outcome is, we can’t not talk to each other about these things.”

“Forgive a bloke for wanting to keep you around.”

“That’s not the point. The point is…you and me don’t work if we aren’t honest. If we keep secrets. Even if the truth is scary, we face it together.” Buffy took another step forward, then another, and another until she was close enough that she flooded all of his senses. “Spike, I don’t want to jump. I don’t want to die. I want the forever I was promised and we _will_ find another way to close the Hellmouth if it opens. But I need you to understand why keeping me in the dark was the wrong approach.”

Spike hesitated, every instinct in his body telling him to just repeat the lines she wanted to hear so they could skip to the part where he bent her over the bar. But hell, she was right. They needed to be honest, and covering one deceit with another wouldn’t do rot to move them forward.

“Between the choice of keepin’ you in the dark and keepin’ you alive, pet, I’m always gonna vote to keep you alive. Not sure you could ever convince me it was the wrong approach when it was the only bloody way to guarantee you wouldn’t…” He swallowed, looked away. “But I know you’ve got the right of it. That we tell each other the truth no matter what.”

“Then you do understand.”

“Why it’s important, yeah. I get it. That I oughta apologize for not wanting you to dust on me?”

“It’s not the wanting that matters, it’s—”

“I know. All that rot doesn’t cloud my head too much. Not like I want Faith to kick it—don’t rightly have too many thoughts on it either way, ’cept I wager Winchester might be a bit sore if she wasn’t around anymore.”

Buffy’s mouth twitched. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“But that’s him, love. Not me. It comes down to you or another bird and I choose you every time. Not sayin’ the choice wouldn’t hurt. Say, if it was you or Kelly. You or Cordelia. You or Bite Size. I’d feel it but it, losin’ them, but it’d still be the easiest bloody decision I’ve ever made.” Spike glanced down, a long sigh rattling through his chest. “Part of me that’s all monster isn’t goin’ anywhere, love. And it loves you too. All of me does.”

“I know.”

“That somethin’ you reckon you can live with?”

“Spike, I made that decision a long time ago.” Buffy pressed up on her toes and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. And fuck, he thought he might start bawling at the taste of her. It had been just a handful of hours since their argument, but he felt decades older. “I love you.”

He closed his arms around her, trembling when she didn’t pull back. “Fuck, I love you too. And I’m sorry. Not for what you want me to be, but…because I can’t be that. The man you want.”

“You are the man I want. I choose you every day.” She laid her head on his chest, and he felt her melt into him. “And I hate sleeping away from you, so let’s not do that again.”

“Never,” he whispered into her hair.

“But you can’t keep things like this from me. Ever. I can’t know how to fight if I don’t have all the information.”

He nodded and clutched her tighter to him. “All right. All right, Slayer. You win.”

“This isn’t about winning. I don’t want to win. I just want you to tell me everything. Always. No secrets.”

Spike nodded again, and this time a grin tickled his lips. “This your way of sayin’ you don’t want me to surprise you for your birthday anymore?”

“Those kind of secrets are allowed. World-endy, relationship-relevant secrets are not.”

“Right then.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “Think I can manage.”

“Good.” A pause. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? ’Cause now’s the time to unburden yourself. I’m going to find out anyway. And as much fun as having make-up sex _twice _in one week sounds, I think it’d be hazardous for your health.”

“Didn’t quite follow you around that particular bend, sweetheart.”

“The wizards are coming.”

“Yeah. Not exactly news. They told us yesterday. Bit surprised they haven’t already shown up.”

Buffy pulled back, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “Well, things apparently happened last night. Willow-things. I don’t know all the details, but Sam Seaborn has asked Dean and Faith to be questioned while under the influence of some truth-telling serum. And us too, since we shared space with the devil. I don’t know the full, but it sounds like the governor is second-guessing that we’re not evil Hellmouth-opening demons.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Fit two of those descriptors, Slayer. Sure you want me juiced on stuff that’ll let my demon out?”

“I’ll learn nothing I don’t already know.” It was a question and a statement, he knew. She trusted that he was telling the truth but needed to hear it all the same.

He nodded. “You won’t.”

“Then it doesn’t matter. Now…” Buffy took an exaggerated look around the empty bar, a light flaring in her eyes that had the still-tense parts of him relaxing. And he knew then it would be well between them, whatever came next. “Before we head back…wanna test out the bar? See how sturdy it is?”

He released a playful growl and swept her into his arms, heartened by the melodious ring of her laugh and even more so by the hungry way she kissed him as she began fumbling with his clothes.

While he didn’t much care for the ache that had taken residence in his chest the night before, he wagered what was about to happen would make it almost seem worth it.

Almost.

*~*~*

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”

Faith scowled and burrowed herself deeper into the pillows. “I smell no bakey. Don’t play with a slayer’s emotions, Ducky. It won’t end well for you.”

She expected some snappy retort but there was nothing but silence. At that, she sighed, conceded that she was awake now, and rolled over to find Dean staring at her with a look that seemed stranded halfway between happy and terrified, which made no fucking sense. Maybe she was still sleeping.

“I’ll make a bakey run,” he said after a moment. “Just wanted to give you a head’s up.”

“Great.” A head’s up meant something was up. Faith sighed and pushed herself up until she was sitting with her back to the headboard, the last vestiges of sleep fading away and ushering in a host of memories from the night before. Carrying him to bed, talking with B as she’d never talked with anyone, and then slipping in beside Dean like they were a couple and not two people who fucked themselves into exhaustion every night.

Except, as B had pointed out, they pretty much were a couple. Unless Dean was about to make some snappy comment…but hell, she didn’t think so. He was the one who kept moving her shit back to his room when she tried to leave.

Dean was studying her with more of that strange joy-fear combination. It was unsettling.

“What?” she barked at last. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Heard you carted me to bed last night.”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “That’s what you wanted to give me a head’s up about? Kinda remember that, being that I was there.”

“That’s kinda hot.” He grinned, but the shine didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Shit went down last night, apparently. Not sure what all we’re talkin’ about but…apparently when the Potter people arrive, we gotta take a magical polygraph.”

Faith’s eyes went so wide she could feel the air against them. “The fuck?”

“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.” His sigh said there was more. “You familiar with the books?”

“Read maybe two or three while I was in prison, but no.”

“It’s this potion stuff. Makes you tell the truth about everything. And they got no idea how it’ll affect us. Or how long.”

“Shit!” Faith burst into action, unable to sit still another second. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Not with all these goddamn feelings she didn’t know how to fucking manage, heart-to-hearts with B aside. “No way. That’s comin’ nowhere near me.”

“The governor of California thinks there might be some truth to this bullshit with Willow. That I’m the antichrist and we’re the real bad guys in this fuckin’ play.”

“So he lives with being wrong. He’s a politician.”

“Faith, I don’t get the feelin’ we have much of a choice in this. Not saying I like it, ’cause I don’t, but I think we’re gonna just have to hunker down and deal.”

The fact that he said all this while looking positively terrified made her feel somewhat better, but only somewhat. That he was freaked at all meant there were things he didn’t want her to know—and since she knew pretty much all of the highlights, it meant there were things he didn’t want her to know about _her_. Which was fair because there was a load of shit she wasn’t ready to _think _about Dean just yet, let alone say out loud, but it didn’t stop her from wondering what he could be so freaked about her finding out.

Faith released what was supposed to be a calming breath, though it had the opposite effect. Blurting that she had mushy feelings for anyone was pretty much her worst nightmare. “They’ll stick to just questions about Lucifer, right?”

“Yeah, _they _will,” Dean agreed. “I mean, they fucking better. It’s none of their goddamn business, is it?”

“Fuck no.”

“Fuck no.” He nodded hard. “And if it wears off fast like it oughta, everything else should be good.”

It was that _if _that worried her. “What if it doesn’t?” Just last night, she’d been thinking about how fucking awful Nick and Ro were to be around just now. If they found out, they’d hound her until she was blabbing everything. “We just…come back here and wait it out?”

At the suggestion, Dean’s eyes went wide. “Both of us?”

“Well…I already know all your bad, don’t I, Ducky?”

He looked away, breathing hard. “Uhh…yeah. I think. The shit that matters. What about you?”

“Open fucking book.”

“There’s…nothing you wanna say now that might come out later?”

She shook her head, though she felt heat rising to her cheeks. Fuck, when had she turned into such a goddamned _girl_? “Can’t think of anything. What about you?”

There was something, she could tell. Dean had become ridiculously easy to read sometime over the last week. He didn’t have much of a poker face—not really. Or maybe he did with the people who didn’t know him well, but somewhere over the course of the last week, she’d become someone who knew him probably about as well as she knew anyone. Getting him to talk about what was on his mind would be a challenge, but any idiot who knew how to look would be able to see something was there.

“Nothing.” Dean pasted on a really fake smile. “All right then. Good. I’ve warned you.”

“Yeah.”

“So I can go grab the eggs and bakey.”

Faith nodded, though she suddenly felt the opposite of hungry. “Good.”

“Good.” Dean stared at her a moment later, then cleared his throat and picked up his shoes. She watched him through long seconds of awkward silence as he fitted them over his feet, tied them up, before standing to make his way to the door.

Only when he got there, he stopped as though blocked by an invisible wall. More long seconds where he stood, seemingly contemplating the space dividing his room from the hallway as though it were some deep gorge. At length, he stepped back and shut the door.

“Think we might oughta take advantage of this while we can,” he said, turning back to her.

“Advantage of what?”

“Dunno what might come outta my mouth if they ask the right question.” He stepped toward her, ripping off his shirt. “Think you know everything but maybe there’s something I forgot.”

Faith nodded, licking her lips. “Yeah, you’re right. There was a lot to cram in.”

He smirked. “Phrasing.”

“Meant it.” She reached for the belt to his jeans, her heart beginning to race. “Cram it all in, Ducky.”

“Fuck yeah.” He kicked off his shoes, then reached for her tank top and practically tore it over her head. “Gotta make every second count.”

Faith shoved his jeans down his hips until he took the hint and shucked them off entirely. He was walking her back to the bed then, gaze roaming over her body in that ravenous way that never failed to get her hot. It was so strange, too, because men had looked at her like that before—well, not exactly like that. Close enough that she might’ve once not seen the difference, but she did now. Everything Dean did felt magnified.

“You know I got morning breath, right?” Faith asked as he neared to kiss her. “Just woke up.”

“I’ll risk it.” He palmed the back of her head and crushed his mouth to hers. No one else in the world kissed like Dean Winchester—like he was trying to consume her from the inside out. It was all teeth and tongue, growly and awesome and she so fucking hoped that they were overreacting, because she did not want this to be the last time.

Hell, she didn’t want there to be a last time, period.

“Faith,” he said into her mouth, “please.”

She grinned, then flipped him over so he was on his back staring up at her. “Did my ducky just say ‘please’?”

He nodded, hitching her up until she was hovering over him, the head of his cock dancing along the crotch of her panties. “Ducky wants Kitty.” He dragged a hand between her breasts, over her abdomen until her pussy was pressed against his palm, fingers teasing her through the satin. “Right the fuck now, Ducky wants Kitty.”

Faith pulled her hands back over her thighs until she had either thumb hooked under the material of her panties at her hips. “Kitty can make that happen,” she said, before ripping the fabric right off.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean gasped, bucking. “That might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Guess I’ll know here for certain soon.” She steadied her hands on his chest then and sank onto him. “Oooh, that’s a good ducky.” And took off at a pace that had her bones vibrating, so the air filled with the frenzied sound of their flesh slapping, accented with the telling whine of the bedsprings. It wasn’t the hard, fast fuck that had followed his outburst the day before, but born of the same sort of desperation. Faith rolled her head back, then forward again so she could watch him as she rode him. How his eyes widened every time she sank back onto his cock, how her movements seemed to chase his breath away.

“Dean…touch me.”

Dean couldn’t reply at first, as he was panting too hard, staring at her where they were joined with unabashed hunger. “God, you ride my cock so good, baby,” he said at last. “Could watch this all fucking day.”

“Ducky, I mean it. Touch me.”

He raised his eyes to hers and smirked. “Like this, then?” he asked, then seized her by the arms and flipped her over so she was pressed to the bed.

“Fuck,” she breathed into his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” he agreed, swirling his hips and beginning to pound into her at a bruising pace. He nipped at one of her breasts as a hand fought between them, fingertips skimming over her drenched flesh until he found her clit. And fuck, he knew just what to do with his hand. His mouth. His dick. And she had the thought this couldn’t possibly be the end of it—but at the same time, maybe it was, and that was why it was so desperate. Not the end as either of them thought, but the end of their so-called arrangement. The end of telling themselves and each other that was all this was. Because try as she might, she couldn’t imagine the day ending with them in different rooms.

Dean skimmed his teeth up the column of her throat. “Tell me you’re close, Miss Kitty.”

“Ducky can’t hold on?”

In a flash, he was gone, cock pulled free of her body and his weight off her. Faith jolted upright to grab him, but was promptly pushed back down again as he buried his face in her cunt and drew her clit between his lips.

“Ohhhh fuck,” she hissed, fisting his hair and thrusting against his mouth. He chuckled, drawing circles around her clit with his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean—”

And then it hit—she couldn’t fight it. As her body tumbled over, Dean crawled back up and shoved back inside her at the same hard, desperate pace as before. He kissed her, then tensed, and she felt him coming too, cock pulsing as he unloaded himself. It seemed to go on a long time, even though she knew it didn’t, because Dean kept pumping well after it was over.

Faith wound her arms around his neck, hugging him to her. “Well,” she said, somewhat hoarse, “if that was the last time, at least it was one for the books.”

He chuckled, but the sound was somewhat strained. Then he pulled back to meet her eyes. “You don’t really think that was the last time, do you?”

“I’m happy with my ducky,” she replied before she could stop herself, but this time, her verbal diarrhea didn’t scare her. Mainly because Dean grinned so hard his eyes literally twinkled, it seemed, and he gave her a slow, awesome kiss that had parts of her revving back to life at speeds that surprised even her.

“How long until they get here?” she asked, feeling Dean stir inside her. There were times she forgot he was human for as fast as he recovered. “’Cause I’ll need to shower.”

“I’ll help,” he said, rolling his hips and kissing a line down her neck. “But let’s get you a little dirtier first.”

*~*~*

Spike volunteered to go first. Well, Buffy asked him to and he’d agreed. Her hope was to set the pace for the interview and establish baseline questions that would help everyone stay on the same page.

The wizards had arrived around noon. There had been little time for pleasantries. Hermione wanted to reinforce the bunker with a handful of spells that she had perfected over the years, including those most powerful enchantments that protected Hogwarts. However, Sam Seaborn had insisted on viewing the interrogations and he had a brief window of time in which to do it.

Harry established a Caterwalling Charm around the main meeting room area to keep random rubberneckers from getting an eye or earful of the interrogation. This, Buffy had insisted, must include her sister, who was not a slayer, Watcher, or someone who had met Lucifer. Dawn had pitched a fit, said Sam would just tell her the good stuff anyway, but Buffy had been adamant and growled at Sam when he tried to override her. The last thing they needed was more fuel on the Faith-fire while Faith was forced to answer each question she was asked—no matter how irrelevant to the issue at hand—truthfully.

Afterward, Hermione had cast the Muffliato Charm around the room as well, preventing wandering ears from picking up things they ought not to hear.

In the end, the room held just the Winchester family, Giles, Faith, Buffy and Spike, the Potters and the Weasleys. Buffy had also strong-armed Sam into preventing Rosalie from attending. She knew the girl had good intentions, but she hadn’t encountered Lucifer at all, and was young and foolhardy enough to try and use this opportunity to embarrass Faith, and her sister slayer was already nervous enough about going on the juice.

“All right,” Hermione said. “Just a drop should do.”

A pearly sphere of potion dropped from the lip of the vial she held and onto Spike’s tongue. He dutifully swallowed it up, then straightened and leveled a glare at the governor.

“What is your name?” Sam Seaborn asked in his haughty lawyer voice.

“William Pratt, known as William the Bloody and Spike,” Spike snapped.

“Okay, baseline question. How many slayers have you killed?”

Spike flicked his gaze to Buffy. “Three.”

Buffy frowned. “What—”

“Always considered Buffy my third. Didn’t make it to her in time, did I? Got her killed.” He glanced back to the screen. “Nikki Wood in New York was the second. Xin Rong in China was the first. Buffy was the last.”

God, he really believed that. Buffy cleared her throat and shook her head. “Spike, you didn’t kill—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry Potter said, holding up a hand. “That’s his truth. And he can’t argue with it now.”

“Moving on,” Sam continued briskly. “Tell me what happened two nights ago in Roswell.”


	53. Chapter 53

Sam sat down in the chair Spike and Buffy had used for their interrogations. While there hadn’t been any bombshells come out so far that wasn’t public knowledge, Sam couldn’t exactly trust how well this was going to go for him. His experience with Lucifer was the most personal.

With one last steely nod, he opened his mouth and let Hermione drop the potion on his tongue. It was rather tasteless, but Sam felt it flow through his body and mind as he swallowed.

“What’s your name?”

“Samuel Matthew Winchester.”

“When were you born?” Seaborn asked.

“May 2, 1983 in Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Do you have any brothers?”

Sam swallowed and looked over at his big brother. “Two. Dean Michael Winchester and Adam Mulligan.”

“And you claim that Adam is currently trapped in a cage with the angel Michael? How do you know this?”

“He is,” Sam answered. “Because I was there and saw it.”

“You allowed Lucifer to possess you?” Seaborn sounded suspicious. “But you don’t support him?”

“That not how it fucking was!” Dean bellowed as he slammed his hands down on the table he and Faith were sitting at. “Don’t make it sound like the plan wasn’t to put him in the cage!”

Sam watched as Faith reached over and grabbed his hand. Dean dropped his eyes to the table, just looking at their fingers interlocked with heaving breaths.

“Dean is right,” Sam said. “Our plan was to trap Lucifer, even though we weren’t sure I’d be strong enough to overpower him and jump. Michael made to grab me and we all fell into the trap together.”

“You also released Lucifer from Hell originally, yes?”

“_Yes!_” he spat angrily.

“After working with a demon. What was her name?”

“_Ruby!_” Jesus Christ he didn’t want to relive this.

“What the _fuck_ this got to do with Willow?” Dean roared, standing up. “I mean it! Ask some relevant shit here or we end this now.”

“Dean!” Nearly every voice in the room called out for him to calm down—except Sam and Faith. Faith just yanked him back down in the chair by tugging on his arm. He flashed her a heated glare, but slumped his shoulders and quieted.

“My point is that you’ve worked with Lucifer before. Have you ever or are you currently working with Lucifer?”

“The only times I worked with Lucifer was when I was possessed before going to Hell and briefly when we tried to all stop Amara and The Darkness from overtaking the world. He was possessing Castiel and had worked with God to stop Amara previously. Dean and I only agreed to use him as a means to an end.”

“Have you altered any books or texts to state false claims about Lucifer or anything related to the Hellmouth?”

“No, you ignorant dumbass!” Sam growled. “This is exactly what Lucifer does. He fucks with people’s minds! He tortured me for years in Hell and nearly killed me here when I came back. I wanted to die!”

He heard Dean’s gasp, but he knew his brother knew it—he’d seen the way it had nearly destroyed him after his soul was brought back from Hell by Death. Once the wall had broken, Sam had begun to believe death was the only relief from the torment.

“Do you suspect anyone else of working to help Lucifer?”

“Willow Rosenberg,” he answered. “She is being lied to and manipulated. We must stop her at all costs if she gets control of the blood.”

“You mean kill her?” Buffy asked this one.

Sam didn’t want to answer, but he did. “Yes,” he grunted. “Only because her life doesn’t outweigh all of the ones at risk. I don’t want to, but I _will_ if we can’t save her first.”

Giles took off his glasses with a heavy sigh and tossed them on the table. “Governor Seaborn, do you have any further questions for Samuel?” He looked up and flashed Sam a sympathetic and sad smile.

“Not at this time. Let’s hear from Faith.”

*~*~*

God, this fucking sucked. At least Faith’s interrogation seemed more relevant. Dean was still fucking pissed about what the bastard had done to Sammy. Nobody had the fucking _right_ to treat his little brother like some criminal. Nothing he’d done had truly been his fault. You could tie it all back to fucking Cain and Abel if you wanted to.

Really, Faith handled it pretty damn well. The only time Dean knew the Veritaserum made her overshare was when she’d described the fear she’d had when she’d figured out Lucifer had some perverted obsession with her. Then, the governor asked her if she was attracted or desiring to help the devil.

_“Even if I didn’t have someone, I would never help or be attracted to that motherfucker.”_

She had someone. Dean was pretty damn sure it was him. At least for the moment. He had no fucking clue what he was gonna say on the stand.

The time came when Faith was allowed to get up and it was his turn in the chair. They’d made a pact that they wouldn’t try to speak to each other or anyone until the Veritaserum wore off. He gave her a high five as he walked past her.

“So?” he said eyeing Hermione and her dropper of doom juice. “Do I need to swear to tell the truth? I ain’t got a bible, but I do got a copy of _Busty Asian Beauties _back in my room.”

Hermione smiled apologetically. “No. Just open your mouth.”

He did and whoa—the effect was like dropping some kinda drug. He felt the odd sensation start messing with his brain.

“Name?” Seaborn began.

“Dean Michael Winchester. January 24, 1979. Lawrence, Kansas. Big brother to Sammy, Adam and baby sister Sabrina Deanne.” His eyes widened. “Sabrina? Like _Sabrina the Teenage Witch_.” He cackled and looked at his brother. “We’re literally related to Sabrina the Once Teenage Witch, dude.”

Sam burst out laughing. Dean saw the Veritaserum was still working on him. “Knew you found me funnier than you like to admit.”

“Fantastic,” Seaborn drawled sarcastically. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

He remembered that Sam had warned him to just answer the questions—it’d be best not to get too loose-lipped about the details. Apparently Veritaserum dosed Dean didn’t have a filter. “Yeah, where you wanna start? The demon part or the Mark of Cain? Maybe you want to start with my first trip when I sold my soul to save my brother? That’s where I ended up ripping souls on the rack for Alastair. Everyone want to hear that one? Trust me, I was fucking _awesome_ at it. Helped trigger the whole Lucifer thing you know. ‘And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.’”

“Dean,” Mary softly begged.

“What, Mom? Don’t want to hear all about how I tortured souls in Hell for ten years? How much I _enjoyed_ it? Maybe we should talk about how you made a deal with the demon that made Sammy fucked up for life on demon blood. Now _that’s _a story.”

“Dean!” Giles hissed at him. “Stop talking! Just answer the questions, son.”

Dean pointed a finger. “No, you don’t get to play dad just because you’re banging my mom. Only one other than John Winchester who can do that is Bobby Singer. He was actually more of a dad to me and Sammy than John ever was.”

“What is the mark on your chest?” Governor Seaborn asked.

“Anti-possession sigil, but you know that. You mean why’s it inverted.” He fought himself to keep from telling the whole story. It was like his brain was begging him to confess all his sins. “I died. Crowley brought me back, but I was a demon. Blame the Mark or blame Crowley or blame me for being brought back when I shouldn’t’ve—I never should have left Hell the first time—but when I came back the symbol inverted because I wasn’t possessed. I _was_ a demon—and I liked it, too.”

He looked at Hermione with horror. “Fucking _hell_, make me stop talking!”

“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron responded. “Just stick to the questions.”

“Have you ever worked with Lucifer other than the times your brother described?” Harry stepped forward to help him along.

“Never,” Dean responded, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood, fighting the urge to elaborate with color commentary.

“And you have no reason to lie about the whereabouts of the real Michael?”

“I’m his true vessel, but not by choice. No, there’s no reason for him to be topside and I _know_ that wasn’t him.”

“How?” Seaborn asked. “How do you know?”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he felt another squirt of verbal diarrhea burst out his mouth. “Because I know Lucifer’s meat suit and Michael would never stoop to using his brother’s old vessel. More importantly, I know the way Michael acts. He’s a bag of dicks, but he’s not making lewd comments and gestures to women. He’s a fucking archangel and thinks he’s better than humans. Lucifer’s a cunt and not only that, but has personal beef with me. Not sure if he’s after more than her blood or if he’s just using Faith to get back at me giving Sammy the inspiration to fight back and jump into the cage. I _hate _him and would sit here and blow my brains out with a smile if it meant ganking the son of a bitch forever.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Any further questions?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “What the hell do we do?” He seemed to aim this question at the room at large. “There’s got to be something in between wait and try and kill Willow?”

“I got a plan,” Dean answered before he could stop himself. Fuck, he was so mad he slapped himself up the head. Biting his lip again, he tried to remain quiet.

“What?” Buffy asked.

He shot her a venomous look that caused Spike to growl and shift in his seat. “Watch it, Winchester.”

Dean snapped his head back and screamed an angry cry—long, low and full of rage at himself and the fucking potion. “I don’t want to do it!”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because it puts Faith at risk!” he shouted as he whipped his head down to look at the wizard. “Not just her, but all the slayers. The only way it would work is to have all three of them together at the same time and make a trap that Lucifer couldn’t resist.” He covered his eyes and shook his head. “We’d use Rosa Lee’s and bring everyone there—we’d have to use the key and lock this place up for real, meaning if anything happened we’d have to destroy the key and never come back here. We use everyone—I’m talking Rowena and Lorne and even Crowley—to hold things together long enough that Cas can get to Willow and show her the truth. That’s the only way we do this without taking Willow out.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” Sam said after the room fell silent. “Offense is always better than defense.”

“I agree,” Buffy said in agreement.

“I _don’t_,” Spike snarled. “Don’t like any plan that uses my slayer for bait.”

“Like I wanna use mine?” Dean snapped back.

Dude, he’d just heard what he said and _really _didn’t want to be called on it. Maybe Faith had been distracted and missed this whole little exchange.

“Your girl’s got a ring, Sparky,” Faith retorted. “Ro and I have to go in without the undead upgrade. I don’t want to die, but I also know D’s right.”

Was that Dean or Ducky? After this shit-show, he didn’t know if he’d finally crossed the line and entered the ‘too fucked to fuck’ zone.

“Well,” Harry said at last. “I for one am convinced by the testimony. We will finish verifying the books, but I do believe that we were right with our original hypothesis. Do you have any further questions, Sam?” He was looking at the camera.

The governor had a broken look as he slumped his shoulders and shook his head. Without a word, he reached over and flipped a switch. The screen went black.

“Right,” Hermione said slowly as she turned to look at each one who had drank the truth juice. “The Veritaserum will likely affect each of you for a different amount of time. My suggestion is find a secluded area and remain there alone until you can say something you know to be a lie. It may take hours or longer, so be patient.

Fucking great. Dean got up and practically sprinted from the room. He didn’t look at Faith because he knew he didn’t have the heart to face her rejection. He hated himself for what he’d said. He might just cry if he saw the truth that she hated him, too.

*~*~*

Well, the witch said to go find a hole and hide. It sounded like some solid advice. Faith probably should have followed it. Instead, she was nipping at Dean’s heels as he beelined it back to their room.

She knew he knew she was there for the way he didn’t stop until he was on the far side of the bed, staring at the wall. Then he buried his head in his hands.

“You should go away,” he muttered.

“You want me to go?” she found herself asking as she shut the door.

“I…don’t want to look at you.” His words kicked her in the chest. “I don’t want to see how you really feel about me now because I don’t think I can handle it, Faith.”

“Ducky,” she softly whispered. Now she got it. He was upset about what he’d revealed about himself in there—most everyone knew about the Hell trip and the demon time. She didn’t know if he’d ever admitted the feeling parts to even little brother.

“Am I still Ducky?” he asked in a small voice.

She walked over and stood in front of him. She kept back a couple steps from touching him, but god, she wanted to. “Look at me.” He shook his head pitifully and closed his eyes. “Ducky Winchester, open your eyes and look at me.”

He peeked one eye open. “Fuck, you’re adorable,” she murmured under her breath. His other eye opened and he gave her a shocked stare.

“Really?”

She sighed and took a step forward. “I know I shouldn’t want to be with a dude who just admitted he got off on torture, but fuck if it doesn’t change a thing about how I feel.” She moved forward until she was standing between his thighs. “I think it makes me feel better to know you really understand me—more than anyone ever has. I wish I could take back what I’ve done, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy most of it at the time.”

“You were bad, Kitty, but I was—I am—_evil_. Deep down I know I should have never come back.”

He broke her heart. “You’re not evil and I’m damn grateful Cas pulled you out of Hell.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I like life with my ducky in it. Good, bad, ugly and adorable.” Bending down she kissed him.

Once again he grasped her by the nape and held her hostage as his teeth and tongue ravished her in a way no man ever had—she didn’t know if any man ever could.

Slowly she pulled back and a thought popped out before she could stop it. “I wanna suck your dick.” Fucking Veritaserum.

Dean barked a laugh. “I don’t need truth serum to tell you I’d like that.”

She blushed. “I never was much of a cocksucker—didn’t really ever care for the whole thing. Why would I get off on a dick in my mouth when I could have it in my snatch?” She felt his hands settle on her hips and gently tug her toward his crotch. “I get off on your in my mouth. I like the way you feel—the way you taste.”

“I love watching you when you suck me,” he admitted in a husky voice. “Granted, I love any time you touch me.”

She gave him a brief kiss, teasing him with her tongue before pulling back and dropping to her knees. Slowly she unfastened his belt. “I liked it when we used this,” she said, giving the leather a tug.

“I’ve thought about spanking you with it.” His eyes grew wide as saucers. “Pretty sure this is why we were supposed to be alone right now.”

She snickered. “We don’t play it safe, Ducky.” With that, she unzipped his pants. He raised his hips when she pulled his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. “Looks like you like the danger,” she murmured as she grasped his erection and gave it a firm squeeze.

“I like you,” Dean hissed as his hips jerked at her touch. “I like _that_,” he added as he nodded to the hand wrapped around his dick.

“More than _this?_” she asked as she leaned over—eyes never leaving his—and licked the tip of his cock.

“No!” he squeaked. “I like that more.”

She decided to be nice and give the boy more than a tease. Opening wide, she took his cock between her lips and began to fuck him with her mouth.

“_Fuck_,” he moaned, flopping his back down upon the mattress. “How does it always feel so good with you?”

Because of him. At least that was the answer she mumbled through a mouthful of dick. Thankfully, he didn’t catch that. Ducky was spilling enough tea for the both of them.

“I talked to Buffy.”

Faith stopped swirling her tongue and pulled him out with an audible plop. “Really?”

He sat up on his elbows to look down at her. “Yeah. This morning.”

She blinked at him. Maybe _adorable_ was too strong a word. “Awesome. Every girl wants to hear how you talked to her sister while she’s sucking you off.”

“Jesus, Fay, I didn’t…” He grimaced and made a gag noise. “I love B, but not in the…” He gestured to her and then his dick. “Way.”

“Good.” She began licking a trail from tip to balls.

“We talked about you,” he gasped as she’d sucked one of his balls in her mouth. “Just so you know.”

She laughed out loud. Veritaserum had turned him into an uncontrollable chatterbox. He was like the kid who never could win the Quiet Game in class. “Ducky, do you want this or not?”

“I do!” he pouted. “I can’t stop talking.”

She sighed and set her head on the palms of her hands as she placed an elbow on each of his knees. “’Kay. Just hurry up. Tell me what you two said.”

“Did you realize we blew the whole friends with benefits out the gate?”

“I think on some level I knew it when we got jealous at the bar.” She shook her head. “When we both ran off and ended up working the same case.”

He nodded. “Buffy said I’m officially ‘Faith’s Boyfriend’ which I like more than being called the Antichrist.”

Faith’s Boyfriend. She liked the sound of that. “You can be both you know,” she teased.

“I’m putting one on a T-shirt and the other some underwear. Buffy thought I was joking, but now I plan on doing it for real.” He covered his eyes and shook his head again. “Dammit, please stop me from telling you about ‘Faith’s Boyfriend’ underwear.” He peeked between his fingers. “I want to ask you to be my girlfriend, but I’m afraid of an honest answer from you.”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, her heart skipping a beat.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’ll just wait till this shit wears off and you can let me down gently.”

She rolled her eyes. God, he made her all mushy inside even when he was a frustratingly dumb ducky. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend.” She felt herself practically giggling as she said it. Because it was really pretty hysterical that two thirty-somethings were sitting here talking about boyfriends and girlfriends like it was elementary school.

He gave her a smile that lit up the darkest corners of her soul. “_Awesome!_”

She slipped her elbows off his knees with a new enthusiasm. She wasn’t just sucking a dick—she was pleasuring her boyfriend. That sounded almost classy.

Not thirty seconds into getting him hard and squirmy, he started his babbling again. “This reminds me of Lisa.”

“Nope,” she said firmly as she spat out his cock and threw her hands up. “You officially got to the no zone.”

Dean’s eyes looked to her, then to his dick and then back to her. “That was a phrasing issue.”

“Phrasing? You just mentioned your ex, dude.”

He shook his head. “I meant it as a compliment.”

She arched a brow, folding her arms. “She sucked at BJs?”

“No!” He paused. “Well, yeah, she wasn’t the best, but she liked anal so it was easy to overlook.” He sighed. “Just punch me already.”

“Oh no,” she said mockingly. “I wanna hear this.”

“Lisa and I hooked up _way_ back. It was a fling among flings and good, but nothing on the top ten, you know? Well, years later Sammy and I work a case and her and her boy, Ben, are in it. We hit it off and a guess a part of me was a little curious about the whole domestic thing. Sammy made me promise to go to her and try to live a normal life if he fell into the cage—so I did. I showed up on her doorstep and didn’t leave until Sammy came back.” He paused. “And deep down, I hated it.”

“Then why did you stay?” She sat back on her legs.

He shrugged. “Partially because I wanted to like it. Maybe at first I did—the idea of my own place and stuff had never been my life before. I liked the barbecues and the mowing a lawn and having people to look out for because I didn’t have Sammy there to protect. I liked golf.”

“Golf?” She snorted at the thought of him wearing a polo and walking around a putting green.

“You get to hit things!” he said defensively.

“Go on, Ducky.” She was beginning to see it might have really been a ‘phrasing’ and timing issue after all.

“I spent a year with Lisa and I thought it was the best year of my life—even when I had to pretend that I wasn’t ready to go hit the road and hunt again. Even though I worried every day that something from our world would come and attack Lisa and Ben in their world.” He looked up and held her gaze. “I was wrong. This—_you_—is the best time I’ve ever had in my life. Because with you I don’t have to pretend. And I don’t have to worry because you’re an even bigger badass than me—though obviously I worry because you’re the key to starting a fucking apocalypse and Lucifer is literally the _worst_ possible son of a bitch to want a piece of you. You know what I mean?”

Wow. Just wow. He was going to shoot himself when this shit wore off and he realized just how much he’d said. “This is real,” she whispered. “We’re like totally doing the couple thing now, aren’t we?”

“If my mouth didn’t fuck it up.” He gave her a sheepish smile.

“Here’s the deal, Ducky. You shoot off at the mouth again and you won’t be shooting off in my mouth, capeesh?” He nodded vigorously. “You get all blabby and I’m making you shut up and eat me out until the truth juice wears off. And I don’t care if it takes all day—you’re staying down there and saying it all with your tongue up my snatch.”

“Can I tell you how hot you get when you’re nasty, Miss Jackson?”

She winked. “You may. Now shut the fuck up.”

He grabbed the belt and bit it between his teeth. Seriously. Adorable.

*~*~*

Mary wasn’t exactly thrilled with this plan, but it made the most sense. Nick was handling Lorne and Rowena. With her boys out of commission for the moment, someone should help Cas out. Giles wouldn’t let her do it alone and since she was still feeling extra sweet on him after the way he’d stood up for Sam and Dean during the polygraph—even when Dean was an ass back—she let him feel needed.

“Humph,” Crowley said as he arrived. He gave Cas an annoyed stare. “Where’s Moose and Squirrel? You said the Winchesters have a plan.”

“We do,” Mary dryly retorted.

Crowley turned to greet her like he hadn’t noticed her standing next to the angel the moment he arrived. “Momma Bear!” He grinned. “Did you have to put the cubs in timeout again? I know little Dean gets cranky without a bottle and a nap.”

“Can we skip the usual exchange of banter in lieu of productive conversation?” Giles haughtily quipped.

The demon looked at him and snickered. “You were more fun before you got that stick shoved up your arse, ole Ripper.”

“Unless you want one shoved up yours, I’d move this along,” Mary retorted.

He looked to her and then back to Giles. “Oh? I see…Momma Bear has found herself a Papa Bear. Maybe she can wiggle it out for you, Ripper. Hit all the good spots.”

“Enough,” Castiel snapped. “Your involvement in this situation is optional. We can go forward with or without your participation.”

“That the way you talk to all the ladies, Cas? No wonder virgins look at you with pity.”

“That’s it,” Mary said throwing up her hands. “Get out.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Save it. We all know if you asked me here then you need my help.”

Castiel took a step forward. “We are devising a trap to lure Lucifer and Willow to a specific location in which we can temporarily overpower them long enough for me to approach Willow and show her that the angel she is working with is not Michael, but Lucifer.”

He snickered. “The witch thinks she’s batting for the home team? Hell, if I didn’t hate the bastard so much I’d give him kudos for that kinda scheme.” His face grew serious as he narrowed his eyes toward the angel. “Where?”

“Rosa Lee’s.”

“Bait?”

“All the slayers inside the bar and under the protection of the sanctuary spell.”

“And here?” He looked around the room. “Who’s left manning the fort?”

“The bunker and the Hellmouth will be locked. The key will be hidden somewhere undetectable and far away.”

“Just you knowing the spot?”

“Yes.”

Crowley nodded. “I’m in.” He looked at Mary and Giles. “You’re welcome.” And with a smirk and a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

“Bloody hell,” Giles muttered under his breath. “I hate him more than angels.”

“Me too, Ripper,” she teased.

Cas cocked his head. “I believe Ripper was a nickname Dean gave Sam a night he was particularly flatulent. Was your name derived in a similar manner?”

Mary lost her shit as she bent over laughing. She’d only begun to contain herself when she saw Giles pulling out a knife. “Stop. I love you!” she giggled before turning to Cas. “And I _love _you!”

“I rescind my previous statement,” Giles grumbled as he sheathed the blade.

“Oh shit,” Mary tittered as she wiped her eyes. “I needed that.” She took a breath and composed herself. “Now let’s get back to work.”


	54. Chapter 54

The Veritaserum wore off rather fast, but Buffy would be quite happy if she never had to experience it again. Not that there had been much risk for oversharing, but that she hadn’t had the choice would never not bother her. Still, it seemed that Sam Seaborn had acquired the evidence he needed—though perhaps not what he wanted—and they were back to where they’d been before. Except now they were armed with a plan—and a good one at that. No matter how much certain people might not like it. And for no other reason, Buffy was grateful for the truth serum. She very much doubted Dean would have shared if left to his own devices.

There was only one problem with the plan—she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to remain within the cantina. In fact, she was pretty damn sure that she’d burst through the doors like hell was following her if she sensed Spike getting hurt. That he would be in the open with the devil, the guy who had almost successfully killed him last time, was something she couldn’t help but focus on. Never mind that Dawn would be in the crossfire too, and while she had proven to be a competent hunter in the time since they’d started sharing a roof again, Buffy didn’t love the idea of her baby sister being within spitting distance of Lucifer.

So, not long after the Veritaserum wore off, Buffy found herself seeking out the company of wizards. Hermione and Harry had retreated outside almost immediately following the results of Seaborn’s interrogation to strengthen the protection around the bunker, and word was they planned to do the same to the bar. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would buy time in the event of an attack.

Buffy was rather well known in the demon world. Hell, Dracula had been a fanboy. And while age had worn off some of her girlishness, she couldn’t help but be somewhat star-struck with the wizards. Something she hoped wasn’t obvious when she approached them outside.

“Harry,” she said, and squirmed somewhat when the Boy Who Lived turned his brilliant green eyes on her. His mess of hair seemed to stretch in each direction. “I—uhh, I had a question. It can wait until you’re done, though.”

“About finished now,” he said, then nodded to Hermione. Hermione’s brown hair wasn’t quite as bushy as it was described in the novels, but she’d been a child then. She was rather pretty in an unassuming way—not Emma Watson but a close cousin. All-in-all, the casting had been rather spot on with these two. Rupert Grint had the height for Ron, but his nose was wider and he didn’t have as many obvious freckles.

“Buffy, right?” Hermione asked as she neared, wand in hand. “Sorry. I know we’ve met but I don’t know that we’ve ever talked face-to-face. Is there a problem?”

“No, I just… Is there any kind of spell that might work to keep someone from bleeding?”

Harry arched an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “Someone like a slayer, maybe? A slayer who wants to be in the fight.”

“I mean, as a for instance, yes.”

“I was wondering when you might ask,” he said approvingly. Then turned and met Hermione’s scowl with a roll of his eyes. “What, Hermione? These women are bloody warriors. You can’t ask them to sit on the sidelines.”

“It’s dangerous,” she replied in a reproachful tone.

“Yeah, well, when has that stopped us before?” Harry looked back to Buffy. “Willow says I remind her of you, which I’ve always taken as a compliment. There’s no way I’d let others stand between me and danger.”

“Yes, and look how brilliantly that has worked out in the past,” Hermione muttered. “Sacrifice yourself recently?”

“Oi, that won the war, didn’t it?” he shot back.

“It was still incredibly careless. And—”

“Look,” Buffy said, holding up a hand, “I have a ring. As you guys know. It’s why I can stand here and not burn into a little Buffy pile. That’ll work for me. And yeah, I’d never be happy letting other people risk their lives for me. And if my mate’s in danger? It’ll become a biological imperative to get to him—even if I wanted to stay put, my instincts would put me on the battlefield. And I know if I burst out of the cantina, Faith and Rosalie will be right behind me. They both have people they love who will be putting themselves between them and death. I’m not sure how similar your magic is to Willow’s, but is there something you can do to help keep them from splitting a vein or something?”

Harry arched his eyebrows and turned to Hermione, whose expression remained pinched and sour.

“Physically, we are the strongest people in the fight,” Buffy said. “It makes sense to use us.”

“It also makes sense to allow the people who are central to opening the gate to Hell in a sanctuary where they can’t be touched,” Hermione replied.

“Yeah, but you heard her,” Harry said, waving at Buffy. “If it was Ron or the kids, would you stay put when you knew you’d be an asset?”

Hermione’s jaw trembled. “I… Oh, all right.” She blew out a breath. “Something may work, but like all spells, it would be temporary. We’d have to assign someone to each slayer to continue reinforcing the spell. I think at best we could count on twenty minute intervals, but I’d want to test this first.”

“Twenty minutes might be longer than the full fight,” Harry replied.

“And it might not. We’ve never fought Willow, Harry, and we have no idea what other tricks the devil may pull. We don’t even know if she’ll be the only magic user on the field. Never mind things like Dementors or—”

“A Dementor would clue Willow into the fact that she’s not working with a good bloke,” Harry said.

“Well, at one point, we thought setting her best friend’s husband on fire might do the same. We can assume nothing.” Hermione released a breath. “I’ve never tried putting an Imperturbable Charm on someone living. I’m not even sure if it will work.”

“It’ll work,” Harry said proudly. “Hermione’ll find a way.”

“Yes, thank you, that’s just the sort of pressure that always ensures I perform my best,” Hermione replied hotly. She turned back to Buffy. “Do you have time now to test this out?”

She hadn’t been planning on it, but Buffy knew better than to check a gift horse for cavities. “Sure,” she said with a nod. “Only…we want to keep this on the DL. Because I’m pretty sure certain others would throw a fit if they knew the slayers were planning an offense.”

Harry just grinned as though he’d expected nothing less. Hermione went back to looking uncomfortable.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Hermione said. “If someone sees you on the battleground, they might panic.”

“Yeah, and if they know ahead of time that we’re planning on being part of the fight—or at the very least, back-up—they might get themselves killed trying to stop us.” Buffy held up a hand. “This is all Plan B, anyway. It could be that Cas is able to get to Will fast and everything will be over in a blink. But if that’s not what happens, I absolutely will not sit inside while the people I love die. I know Rosalie and Faith won’t, either. So really, it’s either we prepare now or risk everything later.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “So this wasn’t so much a favor as it was an ultimatum. ‘We’re going to do this either way, but it’d be better if you are on board.’ That about sum it up?”

“Well, I was going to be nice and give you the illusion of choice on account of you all being the most famous magic users in the world, but yeah.”

Harry’s grin broadened. “I like you, Summers.”

“Back ’atcha.”

Harry again turned to Hermione, plainly amused. While she didn’t look happy about the turn of events, Buffy saw that she understood it was a losing battle.

“Oh, all right,” she snapped. “Is there a room or somewhere we can practice? Harry can cast the _Muffliato _Charm to keep others from overhearing. We’ll just have to come up with a story if someone enters the room proper.”

“Easy enough.” Buffy shrugged. “Lucifer’s wearing someone else’s body to move around. You can say you’re trying a bunch of hexes on me, being that I’m technically dead. See how they react.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said.

Hermione’s scowl remained in place. “Fine then. I’ll go get Ron and we’ll get started.”

*~*~*

“I think my dose has worn off.”

Dean gave her a hopeful look from his side of the bed. He’d been trying for the past half hour to state blatant untruths, which was how she’d learned that his favorite anime porn was called _Princess Asuka and the Tentacles of Pleasure_, which he had on VHS. He’d turned bright red and pulled a pillow over his face, muffling the words into the cotton in between begging her to kill him.

“Give it a test.”

Faith straightened her shoulders and focused on a point on the wall. “All right, here it goes. Cas is the best sex I’ve ever had.” The words came out her mouth as they sounded in her head and she knew she was home free. She clapped her hands once and gave a little bounce. “Score! You try, Ducky.”

Dean gave her a blatantly terrified look and shook his head. “Nuh uh. Don’t wanna. I won’t be able to stop.”

“That’s what the belt is for.”

“You know how I told you I thought about spanking you with it? I’ve thought about you spanking me, too, because sometimes I am a very bad boy.” His eyes went wide and he slapped both hands across his face. “Fuck, just…knock me out or something.”

It took every ounce of slayer willpower not to giggle. Even more to keep from cracking a grin. “Well, you didn’t go off on an unstoppable tangent, so I’ll call that progress.”

He shook his head again, chomping down on the belt.

“Times like this I’m glad I’m superpowered. Well…” She winked. “Always glad I’m superpowered. Must be some extra slayer juice at work.”

“I fucking love your slayer juice,” he said around the belt before squeezing his eyes shut and giving a pitiful little whimper. “Faith, kill me.”

“Sorry. Turns out, it ain’t duck hunting season.” Faith leaned over, tugged the belt from his mouth, and gave him a soft kiss. “How about this? You can ride the last of it out solo. I’ve been reset to factory default so I think I can bust out safely. Got any secrets you just need to spill, you can do it without an audience.”

At this, Dean looked like he might shed tears of gratitude. “You’re the fucking best.”

“Obviously.” She kissed him again, then slipped out of bed and began the process of adjusting her clothing. After possibly the chattiest blowjob she’d ever given, Dean had been all about returning the favor—partly, according to him, in relief she hadn’t fled the room and partly so anything he was moved to say would be muffled. She’d suggested a nap after that, but given that Dean had apparently had the best night’s rest of his life the night before, he was too wired to catch any shuteye. At one point he’d complained about the lack of food, being that they’d both managed to skip both breakfast and lunch, so she’d put his mouth back to work.

After she was back in the jeans and black tank that was more or less her uniform of choice, she turned back to Dean, who had replaced the pillow over his head.

“So…you won’t be obnoxious if I bring you a sandwich, will you?”

He sat up so fast the pillow fell to the floor. The belt was back between his teeth.

“’Cause I swear, Ducky, I get one joke about makin’ you a sammich in the future, and I will make sure you’re on a liquid diet the rest of your life.”

“I can’t promise that because I can be a dick and you’re super cute when you get pissy but oh my god, Faith, you are literally the best person alive for even thinking this and I’m still wondering how it is I talked you into being my girlfriend because, like I said, I can be a dick.” He winced, slapped his own cheek, then looked back at her. “Did I just talk myself out of getting food?”

“Call me cute again and I really will pop you one.”

“You called me adorable earlier!”

“That’s different,” she retorted.

“How?”

“Because when I’m pissed, I will fuck you up if you call me cute. Fucking try me.” Faith rolled her eyes and made for the door. “And you were being legit adorable. I ain’t taking any orders. You’ll eat what I bring you.”

“So you are bringing me food.” Dean flopped back. “Best girlfriend ever.”

“Fuckin’ A,” she replied, and slipped into the thankfully empty corridor.

Somehow, despite the bunker being literally filled to the brim with people, she managed to find her way to the kitchen and slap together three turkey and cheese sandwiches, extra mayo, grab a bag of chips, a packet of donuts, a bottle of water and a beer and make it back to the room without anyone jumping out at her.

Being that her hands were full, she had to knock on the door. “Room service,” she called in a sweet, lilting voice. Dean really was into role play.

It took a second, but he practically tore the door off its hinges, then blinked at the towering plate of goodness she’d brought him. Again, she thought he might cry.

“You are,” he said hoarsely, “the fucking best.”

“Well, and you’ve been extra aerobic for a guy who hasn’t caloried up today.” She shouldered her way inside, deposited the goods on the nightstand, then turned to leave. “All right, Ducky. I’ll go see if they’ve taken your plan and made it anything just yet. Talk yourself out.”

He nodded, his eyes glassy. “I hate my plan. I hate that you’re going to be in danger. I hate that they made me share it and I really fucking hate—”

She made her way over to him in time to pinch his lips shut, though his voice continued to work—the words just didn’t make it out. The look he gave her this time was one of gratitude. When she was reasonably certain this last tangent had worn out, she released him, took a step back, zipped her lips, then motioned to the door to indicate she was going to leave. He nodded, then grinned somewhat shyly and left her with a kiss before moving toward the bed.

This time when she opened the door, the hallway was not empty. Rosalie was waiting on the other side, her fist raised like she’d been about to knock.

“Buffy wants to see us,” she said before her lips turned up in a little smirk. “Are you in love with Dean?”

A growl sounded from the bed.

“You tired of Nick already?” Faith replied dryly. “Ro, I ain’t breakin’ in all of your boyfriends.”

It would have been funny under any other circumstances, how fast Rosalie’s face fell. “You’re back to normal too.”

“’Fraid so, kid.”

“Buffy’s wore off really fast but Sam’s still blurting stuff.” Rosalie actually pouted before her eyes went alight with mischief again and she cast Dean a glance that clearly spelled out her intentions. “So _Dean. _Are you in love with Fai—”

Faith promptly shoved her out of the room and closed the door behind her, then seized her arm and began parading her down the hallway, lest Dean be compelled to shout the answer. “Not cool, Ro,” she snapped. “I tell you, there are times when your age really fucking shows.”

Rosalie just grinned. “I learn from the best. But seriously, _taaaalk _to me. I’ve never seen you hang around a guy like this. Like, ever. I mean, you and Nick are BFFs but you tossed him out of your room after you were done with the canoodling.”

“Canoodling. That what we’re callin’ it?”

“Being that the man in question is my boyfriend and I get somewhat violent when I think of you two together, yes, that’s what we’re calling it.”

Faith snickered and shook her head. “Told you before, Nick annoyed the shit outta me.”

“And Dean…?”

“Doesn’t.”

“Oh, please! Dean is the most obnoxious person in this bunker, not counting Uncle Spike. And he’s always growly and mean. Well…” The cheeky look returned. “He _was_. Before you two started going down to pound town.”

“Jesus Christ, just call it fucking. You sound ridiculous.”

“I’m pretty sure I learned that phrase from you.”

“Well, I can pull it off.” Faith jerked her head around when Rosalie took a turn she hadn’t expected. “Where the hell are we going, anyway?”

“Super secret Slayer meeting,” Rosalie replied. They were headed toward an area of the bunker Faith didn’t think she’d explored before—though that wasn’t saying much. She hadn’t spent too many actual days here, and hadn’t wandered around too much. Her stops were pretty much Dean’s room, the main meeting room, the kitchen, and the shower.

“This better be good,” Faith said, rubbing her belly. “I haven’t eaten since spaghetti last night.”

Rosalie gave her another smirk. “Been spending too much time in pound town.”

“Seriously, kid, ridiculous.”

“You used to be fun, you know.”

“Watch yourself. I am a fucking delight.”

“And you used to tell me all about yours and Nick’s crazy sex stuff.”

“Pretty sure I can dig up more of those stories if you’re achin’ to hear them.”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose. “Eww. No. _My _boyfriend. But seriously, no details on Dean? Like, not even what his dick looks like?”

“Ro, he’s old enough to be your dad.”

“Who you’ve also banged, but sure, high horse it.”

“Want me to describe your dad’s dick?”

“Ugh, Faith!”

“’Cause it’s been a few years, but some memories are fuckin’ Kodak. There was this thing he did with his tongue—”

Mission accomplished. A very horrified Rosalie plugged her ears and began singing at the top of her lungs, glaring at Faith all the while. Faith tried very hard not to look too pleased, but hell, she had a new secret weapon. From now on, whenever the kid started nosing around where she shouldn’t, Faith would rely on Daddy Wright to get her to shut up.

“Hey!” Buffy popped out from one of the rooms, her hands over her ears. “Some respect for the undead around here.”

Rosalie lowered her hands and pointed at Faith with a pronounced pout. “She started it.”

“And dear old daddy finished it,” Faith agreed, smirking. “Lost count of how many times—”

Rosalie squealed and clapped her hands over her ears again.

Faith gave Buffy an apologetic look. “She wanted details about Dean. I told her he was old enough to be her dad, who I’ve also banged. So I decided to start there if she wanted to dish.” She folded her arms. “And boy howdy, do I ever have stories about that night.”

Buffy just shook her head, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Come on. There are things to discuss.”

Well, that was nice and cryptic. Faith seized Rosalie by the arm and tugged her after Buffy.

The room was on the small side but felt smaller because it was so crammed. Whatever else, Faith hadn’t expected anyone else to be in there, but damn if Harry Potter and his friends, plus wife, weren’t in there waiting for them.

“Uhh, B?” Faith wasn’t a big fan of magic users. Something about having been sucked into a bracelet then hurled through a bus had kind of soured her on the whole experience. “What’s the what?”

Rosalie once more lowered her hands to her sides, frowning.

Buffy inhaled, then launched into a spiel about the upcoming fight and how she knew damn well none of them would be comfortable sitting inside while people they loved—or at the very least cared about—were in danger. And yeah, Faith had been thinking something along those lines too. Or rather, she’d been trying very hard _not _to think about it—the fact that human, breakable Dean would be facing down the same devil that had cracked his bones by waving his hand. She hadn’t allowed herself to take that mental detour because every time she tried, her stomach tightened and her heart began to pound.

“So you can put us in the fight,” Rosalie said eagerly, looking to Harry Potter. “Fuck. Yes.”

“Plan B,” Hermione said. “That was what we agreed upon.”

“Look, my whole family’s going to be out there. My dad, my mom, my boyfriend and my Watcher. There was never any way I was going to stay in one place while everyone I love might die.” Rosalie glanced to Buffy. “No way she was, either. Vampire mates are seriously devoted.”

“We need to see how the spell will work on you,” Buffy replied. “The tests on me were good after a few tries.” She held up both of her hands. “No ring. Rose, you gotta knife on you?”

Rosalie gave her a _who the hell do you think you’re talking to _look, bent over and tore free the blade attached to her ankle.

Buffy held out her arm. “Try to cut me.”

The second the knife got close to the skin, it shook and rebounded, almost with enough force to take Rosalie with it.

Buffy turned to Faith. “Try and hit me.”

“This ain’t gonna end fun for me, is it?”

“No, but try it.”

Faith sighed and took a swing. The closer her knuckles came to making contact, the more her forward momentum slowed, such to the point that by the time she would have been clocking anyone else, her fist felt like it smacked hard into an elastic wall. The reverberation send a wave of tremors shooting up her wrist to her shoulder before it hit her square in the chest with enough force to have her smashing against the door someone had been cognizant enough to close, though the knob bit into her lower back.

“Son of a bitch!” Faith shouted, jumping back to her feet and rubbing the point of impact. “That ain’t cool.”

“No, it’s perfect.” Rosalie looked to Harry. “What about spells?”

“Less precise, since we don’t know Lucifer’s brand of magic and Willow is so different from us,” Ginny said, brandishing her wand. “Though Hermione believes the theory holds the same.”

“Though we access magic in different ways, it’s the same source,” Hermione explained. “We just touch it differently. She can’t do what we can for the most part, and we can’t do what she can, but there is a fundamental similarity.”

Ginny aimed her wand at Buffy. “_Sectumsempra_!”

A spark flared where the spell and the invisible barrier met, knocking Ginny a few feet back.

“Whoa, that’s a nasty spell,” Rosalie said, looking at Ginny with admiration. “That’s the one you try?”

“It’s a curse, so yes,” Ginny replied. “We tried _Crucio _and _Imperio _earlier with no luck. Harry flat out refused to try the Killing Curse, even though Buffy’s a vampire.” She gave Harry a look that was half affection and half exasperation. “There is no telling if it would rebound the Killing Curse, to be fair. Moody—both the fake one and the real one—always said there was no counter-curse and we don’t want to find out the wrong way that they were right.”

“We need to test this on you now,” Hermione said, pointing her wand at Faith. “Make sure the protective properties aren’t singular to vampire physiology.”

“Why would they be?” Faith asked.

“No reason, but we don’t want to take for granted that it will work on you as easily as it does on her.” Hermione offered a soft smile. “Are you ready?”

Faith glanced to Rosalie and saw her own excitement reflected in the younger girl’s eyes.

“Bring it, witch.”

*~*~*

Buffy was pretty sure Hermione and Willow had been cut from the same cloth, though Willow had always been a bit more of a daredevil. More willing to break the rules, at least. It wouldn’t have taken nearly as much arm twisting to get Willow to see the benefit of having all the Slayers ready to leap into battle if need be.

Hermione had kept tweaking the spell until she got it just the way it needed to be in order to be effective on the battlefield. Then Buffy, Faith, and Rosalie had traded turns attempting to hit each other. The spell had needed fine-tuning to enable to them to cause damage. Blasting someone ten feet away wasn’t quite the same as landing a punch. But they’d managed it through trial and error so that while the Slayers themselves couldn’t be touched, they could do some touching.

“You realize what this means?” Rosalie had asked, all excitement. “We can patrol again!”

“Let’s put a hold on that, Ro,” Faith had said before Buffy could interject. “Ain’t no one gonna be happy about this.”

“That we can’t get hurt? Really?”

“That we’ll be in the battle at all,” Faith had replied with insight Buffy had honestly not expected from her. “The spell isn’t permanent, which means we’re still a liability if we can’t stick next to our magical study-buddy. You really think your dad or Nick are gonna be happy about that?”

The look on Rosalie’s face had been all the answer needed before the girl had moped her way back to her room.

Now for the other part of the plan. Buffy drew in a deep breath and pushed her way into the room she shared with Spike. She found him stretched across the bed, reading _The Canterbury Tales _because her mate was, in fact, a secret book nerd.

“Kelly’s making tuna casserole,” she said by way of greeting. “It should be ready in about a half hour.”

Spike lowered the book and met her eyes. “Not a big fan of tuna, but that’s what blood’s for.”

“There’s something you need to know.”

“Is there?”

Buffy nodded, steeled herself and sat on the edge of the bed. “I asked our new wizarding friends for a way to get me, Faith, and Rosalie in the fight. Just in case… Well, just in case. And it worked. Hermione altered a spell and we’re able to hit other things without being hit ourselves. So if it comes down to it, we’ll be in it, too.”

For a long moment, Spike didn’t say anything, just stared at her. At length, he sighed and sat up, placing his book on the nightstand. “Wasn’t sure you’d tell me.”

“You knew?”

“That little spell they do to keep secret meetings secret only works on human ears, it seems.” He released a deep breath, staring at the floor. “Will admit it, was right brassed for a minute. Bloody careless to put the lot of you in reach. Nothing to keep Red from snatchin’ you up and waiting for the charm to wear off, right?”

“I thought about that. We can’t be touched by any means, magical or otherwise.”

“Right. Heard that much, too. Which is why I’m not gonna fight you on this. Seems you thought of everything.” He paused. “Can’t say I’m wild about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ on it all afternoon and yeah, Slayer, I see your reasoning. You more than any of ‘em are too bloody good to keep out of a big tussle. Just wasn’t sure you’d let me know. You seemed keen on keepin’ it mum.”

Which, yes, had been her first instinct because she’d known how Spike would react. But then she’d thought about the conversation they’d had just that morning, and how freaking hypocritical it would be to not share. But the thing that had convinced her, ultimately, had nothing to do with being open and honest. It had to do with keeping the people she loved safe.

“The night Faith died, Harry used a summoning charm on the ring Angelus stole from Zack, which is how we got it back.” Buffy trembled, picked up Spike’s ring-bearing hand and gently ran her thumb over the band. “I also asked Hermione for help in making sure that can’t happen to you, me, Zack or Kelly. If Lucifer gets the rings off and lights you up… Well…”

Some of the tension in Spike’s shoulders abated, and he leaned over to kiss her. “She have a solution?”

“Yeah. Two. First, she’s going to perform the original spell that keeps objects from being damaged. Second, there’s something called a Permanent Sticking Charm. Harry’s godfather’s old house was apparently covered in them, so they couldn’t take down all the portraits of old, racist relatives.” Buffy tugged on her own ring, which didn’t budge. “They’re not sure how this will hold on skin, and since Lucifer is able to do things like nearly burn you alive, it might be a stall at best. But it should give us a warning if someone tries to rip the ring off. Harry tried to summon mine and all it did was nudge my finger a bit, so… It’s better than nothing. For all of us.”

“Means Zack and Kelly will need to be in on the plan too, I reckon.”

Buffy shook her head. “No. Just tell them about the rings. It makes sense that we would have checked after what happened to you. I love them both, but I’m not sure I trust either to keep quiet about me and the girls being in the back pocket. The fewer people who know, the better. There’ll be a fight and no matter what we do to prove that Hermione’s spell works, it won’t be enough. Then they’ll try to chain us up or something.”

“You trust me though.”

“Because you’ll promise me you’ll keep quiet. And William Pratt always keeps his promises, even when he doesn’t want to.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Promise, will I? Might be the sorta thing you make a bloke swear to do before spilling your secrets, love.”

“Spike—”

“I promise. Of course I do.”

Buffy grinned and kissed him. “I know.”


	55. Chapter 55

Dean had locked the door after Faith had left, ate and practiced the shit out of breaking the fucking Veritaserum control of his damn mouth. If the woman still cared enough to make him a sammich after everything he’d confessed today, he was pretty confident this could end up being his longest relationship. He’d opened up more to Fay in the past week than he’d had in the year he’d spent with Lisa.

There was a knock on the door and somehow he knew instantly it wasn’t Faith—even her knock was cute. This one was loud and boring. Taking a deep breath, he walked up and pressed his ear to the wood. “Who is it?”

“Me.”

Thank fuck. Only one other person was allowed in here now. He opened the door a crack. “You solo?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “Hurry up.”

He let his brother in and shut and locked the door behind him. “You’re out? That mean you’re good?”

Sam nodded. “Mostly. I still sometimes start to answer things I don’t want to. Dawn and Rosalie had a fucking field day when they found me hiding in the dungeon.”

“Could _not_ have been worse than me. I’ve fucking rambled nonstop. Like now. I want to tell you things I _don’t _want to tell you—like how I totally told her about Princess Asuka. Or the stuff with my belt or the…” He took a deep breath and grunted.

“Dude, are you _any_ better?”

Dean grunted again. “Stopping myself,” he ground out. “Is better.”

“Yeah, well Dawn now knows about my fear of clowns, my imaginary friend and that I _really _liked sex with Ruby. All things I wish she didn’t. Here,” he said, holding out one of the two bowls in his hand. “Faith said she’d fed you, but I knew you’d die if you learned there was actual home cooked food and you didn’t get any.”

“_Awesome!_” He snatched the bowl and looked at the contents. “This the tuna casserole they were talking about? Fuck, I don’t even care about tuna. I’d eat anything with the words ‘Kelly’ or ‘casserole’.”

Sam walked over and sat on the bed before giving him a warning look. “Do _not_ tell me about the sex you’ve had on these sheets.”

Dean grumbled under his breath, but it was thankfully indecipherable. Progress. He took a couple bites and had a mini foodgasm. Then he composed himself. “We doing it tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a mouthful of casserole. Swallowing, he continued. “I would have preferred a day, but time is of the essence. Honestly, everyone stepped up and it looks pretty solid. All the magic folks have warded here and the cantina with everything they can think of. The vamps have been hitting the blood heavy to make sure they’re juiced. Ginny, Harry’s wife, made it in.”

“Good,” Dean said, shoveling in another bite. “She’s the best at hexes out of the whole lot.”

Sam smirked. “You gonna have them sign you calendar?”

“Dude!” Dean looked over at it hanging on the wall. “Hell yeah! Then I can frame it.” He caught himself. “Dammit, this is gonna be a bitch tonight.”

“You sure you should? I mean we got Crowley and Lucifer who are gonna be spouting shit. Plus all our ‘friends.’ You think you can—”

“I’m going out there after I eat,” Dean cutoff sternly. “Me divulging about anime porn or spanking or how I used eat my boogers when I was a kid doesn’t really outweigh making sure nobody kicks it tonight. Not when it was my plan.”

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Boogers. Dude, seriously?”

“Fuck off, I saw you do it too.”

“Did not!”

Dean snickered. “Joke’s on you because I’m still doped up on Veritaserum. Boy who didn’t lose his virginity until he was—”

“Fine,” Sam snapped. “So we keep you away from Crowley for sure. Mom, Giles, and Cas handled him earlier.” He sighed. “And I’m already keeping him away from Dawn.”

“Why?”

Sam gave him a heavy look. “Because he somehow caught wind of her…_specialness_.”

“Fuck. You mean he knows she’s some mystic key thing?”

“I don’t think he knows _what_ she is, but he made it very clear he knew she was something he wanted to explore.”

Dean and Dawn were definitely on the outs at the moment, but he still cared about her. “We call Crowley off.”

Sam gave him a small smile. “Thanks, but too late. Besides that, we’re gonna be taking on Lucifer and Willow at once. We need all the superhuman strength we can get.”

Dean gave a grunt and a nod. He paused and looked at Sam with a smile. “Did you see what I did there?”

“Didn’t tell me to go fuck myself for being right?”

“Exactly!” His smile dimmed. “You keep close to me tonight, little brother.”

“Dean—”

“We’re playing with Lucifer so I want eyes on you at all times when we go outside. Girls staying in the bar?”

“Yeah. Dawn, Cordy, and Lorne are gonna start leading customers out the back when they show.”

“Good.” He paused. “Knock me out if I go all Dear Diary. No questions asked.”

Sam chuckled. “Not turning down a free invitation.”

Looking down with a pout, Dean realized his bowl was empty. Probably for the best because he felt stuffed. “Okay, I’m gonna go take a shit and then we better make sure everyone is armed up.”

Standing, Sam reached out to take his empty bowl. “Sad thing is that I don’t know if that was the Veritaserum or you just being gross.”

“Cool. Means I might pull this off.”

*~*~*

Nick wasn’t surprised to find them sitting together in the library. Actually, it gave him a small scrap of happiness to hold on to with everything else going on.

“Ladies,” he greeted as he sat down at the table across them. He smirked as the ‘ladies’ continued what almost appeared to be an eating contest.

“Done!” Rose said as she shoveled in one last ginormous bite. A little flew out when she spoke.

Sometimes he wondered if there was a support group for British men who fell in love with Americans. “So you two are all prepared?”

“Yup,” Faith mumbled as she finished her bowl and threw the spoon in with a loud clank. Then she belched and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t even like tuna, but that was the shit.”

He really couldn’t remember what had sexually attracted him to her. General horniness and low self esteem most likely. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she wasn’t even nice to him.

“And you two understand the plan?” he questioned.

Rose gave him an arched eyebrow with that little smirk that made him weak in the knees. “We get it, but you can mansplain it to me in your naughty professor voice.”

“Yuck,” Faith muttered. “Don’t make me toss my tuna.”

“You can toss my tuna, too. If you’re quick.” Rose gave him a wink.

Oh, she’d just ruined his appetite for casserole. With a blush, Nick shoved his bowl at her in hopes of quieting her dirty little mouth. She didn’t hesitate as she dove in and started on a second helping.

“Hmm,” Faith said absently. “I used that trick earlier with Dean.”

Such low hanging fruit—he almost gave into the temptation to ask about how things were progressing with the eldest Mr. Winchester. They were certainly still sharing a bed from the looks of Rose’s old empty room. “My inquiry was as to whether you two understood your particular roles in this evening’s situation.” Polite way of letting them know he knew they were shady and he didn’t trust them to remain inside.

Faith and Rose rolled their eyes in perfect unison. “Yeah, Nicky.” Faith gave him the stink eye. “We know the whole deal about the blood and the danger and the blah blah blah blah blah.”

Rose gave a nod. “Ditto what she said.” She swallowed her mouthful of food and then reached over to steal the rest of his soda to wash it down. “We stay inside and let all the inferior people get hurt and killed. You know, like you.”

“Very good,” he replied with the same level of sarcasm. “Because nobody outside is as important as the three of you inside.” He paused. “Now both of you say that back to me so I know you aren’t planning something foolish.”

“I don’t take orders from you anymore, honey,” Rose teased.

“And I never took orders from you, sugar tits,” Faith drawled.

There was a low, deep chuckle off to the side. Nick, Rose, and Faith looked up to find Dean a few feet past the steps and heading their direction. “She ain’t called me sugar tits, sugar tits. Gotta admit I ain’t jealous.”

Faith gave him a long look. “You’re…out?”

“No secret there,” he replied. He nodded and grunted before looking over to Rose. “You done eating there, kiddo? Slayers still need weapons, even if you three aren’t going outside.”

“You know Buffy is a slayer, vampire and beholder of the special ring. Plus her blood didn’t go gold,” Rose retorted.

“Yeah, but that first one still puts her out of commission by majority vote,” Nick came back.

“Buffy is guarding the holy grails,” Dean said, giving both women a glance. “Our golden tickets don’t have special rings or secret body armor. So do the world a favor and don’t try and sneak out.”

“I’m a little offended that you don’t trust us,” Faith huffed.

“Baby,” Dean drawled, “I’m a little offended you two girls think you can play us. Boyfriends or dudes who met ya’ll ten minutes ago—you slayers aren’t good at standing back in a fight.”

Nick waited for Faith’s comeback to _that_. Faith took the ‘label’ words very negatively.

“Aww,” Faith said with a fake pout. “D’s gone and hurt my feelings, Ro. He says they don’t trust us.”

Rose let out a pretend cry. “What are we going to do, Faith? I don’t know what to do if Nick doesn’t tell me in little patronizing words.”

“Being a girl is so hard!” Faith mock-whined. “Like, I don’t know like how to take care of myself without a man. Just hold me in your big strong arms, D, and tell me how I need you to protect me.”

“Sure, Fay,” Dean said with a half grin. “Let’s just get you two damsels an ax first.”

“Dick,” Faith snickered as she stood up from the table.

“Bitch,” Dean quipped as he followed her out.

Nick blinked in disbelief. She hadn’t called him out. He turned to Rose. “You saw that, right, love?”

She smiled. “How adorable they are? Or how Faith and I both think you two are dummies?”

He shook his head. “Later.” Now they had more important concerns.

*~*~*

Dean had meant to play it all business from here until the end of the night, but something about being alone with her just made his mind shut off. It was like a switch she somehow controlled that could make him forget anything and everything past, present and future—everything except her.

He knew the door up ahead was a supply closet. Just as Faith was passing, he reached out and grasped her arm.

“What the—”

He had them inside before she could finish, pressing her up against door as he shut it—crashing his mouth to hers in a deep, needing rush to feel her. To taste her.

“Ducky,” she mewled softly, pulling back slightly. “We don’t have time for a quickie.”

“I know.” He sighed and gave her one last hungry kiss.

“You better?” Her lips brushed his when she spoke.

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m not running my mouth like before.” He gave her chaste peck. “I’ll try to be a good boyfriend and not tell about Nurse Faith and the poison.”

“Maybe you _shouldn’t _go.”

He sniggered. “I won’t unless someone asks if Faith has fulfilled any of my sexual fantasies lately. And if Crowley gets that close I told Sam to TKO my ass, stat.”

“If he doesn’t, I will.”

“That’s what I—” _Whoa_. He grunted and kissed her one last time. “Let’s go.” He swung the door open and marched out.

Everyone was in or just outside the weapon’s room. Dean found Sam in the crowd next to Spike. “We got positions assigned?”

“Just about to get into it,” Sam told him.

“Awesome,” he said softly before turning to get the widest view of the group. “Huddle!” he shouted to get everyone’s attention. “So this is how we line up. Slayers arrive last and leave first. Even the ‘ring leader’ stays inside Rosa Lee’s until the coast is clear.” He gave them each a firm nod. “Dawn, Cordy, and Lorne are gonna clear the bar out when Lucifer and Willow arrive. We’re assuming Lucifer will make a front door play, but he may change it up. He’s also not gonna just bring Willow—we know he’s got demon lackeys in play now. So Zack and Kelly, Xander and Anya, Rowena, Ron, Giles and Mom secure the backdoor. Me, Sam, Spike, Crowley, Nick, Wright, Hermione and the Potters take front. We need to keep a vamp and a witch at each entrance, even after we think it’s clear—we ain’t clear until the girls are home.” He looked to Cas. “Your job is to get in there and get it done, big guy. If you can take her away, do it. It might make it easier to get through to her without Lucifer next to her. Whatever you do, don’t go dying on us. The whole point of this is to keep from breaking your wings.” He looked at everyone. “Nobody needs to play hero tonight. We’ve all saved the world a time or two—this ain’t about bragging rights or street cred. Keep eyes out for Crowley and all watch each other’s backs.” He took a deep breath of relief that had all came out as intended. Sometimes he sounded like he knew what the fuck to do—at least enough to believe it. “Questions?”

“Yes, actually,” Nick said. “You mentioned there was a key that locked the building and made it impenetrable.”

“Yeah, Sam and I already had a plan for this in the works. Cas gets the key and goes and hides it somewhere remote. Sammy and I don’t know and won’t be told. Cas is the least breakable—he also stands the best chance at beating any Legilimency or mind juju they try.”

“Dude,” Sam snickered softly.

Dean grunted. He’d totally just pulled out his _Harry Potter _trivia. He couldn’t help the fact that he’d eaten that shit up like candy since he’d learned it was all real.

“So, if Castiel dies or is transported elsewhere,” Hermione said hesitantly, “we lose access to here forever.”

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “The Men of Letters collected some of the deadliest stuff on Earth. Plus a hellmouth. So we have to protect it at all costs.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “I just now need to decide where to place my purse. I suppose the cantina will do.”

Dean held his lips together as he told her where to stick her bag. Unless… “The super cool magic purse you used during the _Deathly Hallows_?”

She favored him a bemused smirk. “Did you enjoy the novels, Dean?”

Fuck. He snorted and turned away, blushing. “Help,” he mouthed to Sam.

“Okay!” Sam projected with a single clap of his hands. “Let’s head on out, guys! Good luck!”

Whew. He’d made it through his test. If he’d fucked up here, there would be no chance he could safely go out tonight.

“Nice speech,” Faith said coming up beside him. While her expression remained neutral, he could see the sweetness in her eyes—that little something he hadn’t yet caught her giving anyone but him.

“Thanks,” he replied with sigh of relief.

“Let’s rock this bitch, D,” she said as she held up her hand.

He met her high-five with a wink before turning to the weapon’s room to stock up. It was game time.


	56. Chapter 56

Willow hadn’t known what to expect when she felt them move. All she’d known was that, for the first time since St. Louis, Faith was somewhere other than the bunker. It had been a quick spell—once at Roswell and the other time in St. Louis—the means of magically tracking where Buffy and Faith went. The signature she knew to be Buffy’s had shifted earlier that day, but this much hadn’t been worth mentioning to Michael. But Faith? Michael really, really wanted Faith.

She hadn’t had a chance to warn Michael that this stank of a Buffy trap. All he’d heard was that Faith was no longer protected by the bunker’s insane warding, and he’d demanded that she follow the signatures. Which had led them here.

Staring down a line of people she knew and loved.

“Oh goddess,” she breathed. Harry, Ginny, and Hermione were there. Dammit, she hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t had time to sort through what their treachery meant, how much it hurt. And how the hell had Dean Winchester managed to convince The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, he who had put an end to Lord Voldemort, to join sides with the devil?

“Yeah, see that shifty looking guy with the pug face?” Michael pointed to someone standing beside Wright and Nick. “That’s the King of Hell. Aaaaand if you look down the line, there are our boys. Sam and Dean.”

Willow could feel the power coming off the King of Hell so there was no need to question it. Not that she’d needed more convincing, but after her conversation with Sam, replaying what had happened in Roswell, and Michael’s increasing obsession with Faith, seeing the King of Hell in the flesh, feeling his demonic energy, filled her with renewed purpose.

“Glad we brought some friends this time,” Michael said in a titter. “’Cause I think this is going to be a par-tay.”

*~*~*

“So how long are we staying in here for reals?” Rosalie asked, peering out the front window. “’Cause Lucifer and Willow just landed and they have that horde of demons Dean was talking about.”

“We give them enough time to execute the plan,” Buffy said. “And we only break if our witch or wizard is in view.”

After escorting the Slayers into the bar, Ginny Weasley had given them the first dose of the modified Imperturbable Charm. Thankfully, she was rather good at nonverbal spells, because Cordelia and Dawn had been giving Buffy and Rosalie the serious side-eye when neither protested at being left inside.

It probably hadn’t helped when Spike had kissed her with a muttered, “See you in a few,” before stalking out, but there was no telling whether or not they’d heard that.

“They got here fast,” Faith said, looking over Rosalie’s shoulder. “Thought the plan was that one of Crowley’s minions was gonna go blab to Lucifer. Doesn’t look like they got the chance.”

“Willow,” Buffy muttered, but that was all she said.

“And we’re seriously not going out there now?” Rosalie whined. “Come on. Three best action warriors right here. We can clear the field in five seconds flat.”

“No, we wait,” Buffy replied. “First, if we come out now, everyone will throw a massive wig and the line will break. We need things to be chaotic. Second, give Dean’s plan a chance. They might not need our help.”

Faith released a shuddering breath. “You didn’t see the way this motherfucker threw him around like a ragdoll, B. Appreciate the vote of confidence, but Dean’s collateral damage. All of them are. The devil wants me.”

“We have Harry Potter this time. And—”

Harry Potter chose that moment to shout something and a bright, brilliant shield shot out from his wand just as the first round of demons charged. Ginny and Hermione did the same, as Wright and Nick started swinging at anything that moved. Spike released a roar that rattled the window and burst into action. Sam and Dean took aim and began firing indiscriminately.

Then the scene outside was a mess of light, spells and hexes flying every which way.

Faith released another long breath, and Buffy heard her heart began to race.

“Just like that night in the cemetery,” she muttered. “Except…”

*~*~*

Except she’d been there to die. That had been the plan. Show up and wait for the bracelet to go off. Follow that bright light to the next pit-stop and see if she’d finally done enough good to balance out the bad.

Her life had been over then. It wasn’t now. And there were people she cared about standing between her and the devil. Someone she really cared about, screaming and firing his shotgun and putting his entirely too-breakable body within range of a guy who would be all too happy to snap his neck.

Standing still was its own kind of torture. Faith didn’t know if she could take waiting for B to decide that the all-stars needed to join the fight, but at the same time, she trusted Buffy’s instincts a helluva lot more than she did her own.

Faith eyed the door and tightened her grip on the ax Dean had tossed her before they’d left the bunker for what could very well have been the last time.

_No_. Fuck no. She would not let her ducky die.

“Buff—”

“Wait,” Buffy said without looking at her. “We give them time.”

*~*~*

In truth, Spike was bloody impressed the Slayer had agreed to go into the sodding bar at all, much less that she hadn’t torn out the front doors the second the demons had charged. But he knew it was coming—this was already turning out to be more chaotic than they’d wagered. Spells were flying in every which direction, which was downright dangerous with everyone moving the way they were.

Before Cas had done his vanishing act, the bloke had stuffed an angel blade into Spike’s hands with the order to go to bloody town. And once he’d shoved the pointy end into a black-eyed git, Spike had discovered this was perhaps the best toy in existence, and was right brassed that it had taken him this long to get his hands on one.

“Oi, Winchester!” he yelled as he thrust the blade into yet another demon’s chest. A mess of black tore clear of the poor sucker’s mouth, leaving a hollow husk behind. Probably would be bad form to stop for a nip, but the monster in him couldn’t help but purr at the thought. “Where you been hidin’ these, eh? Coulda used them back in the day.”

“Buddy, you keep it up, and I’ll get you a lifetime supply for Christmas,” Dean shot back as he pumped his shotgun. For such a human weapon, it dealt a lot of damage.

“Angel blades make great angel-killing bullets,” came a familiar voice at his left, answering the question he hadn’t asked. Spike barely managed not to shove his new toy into Crowley’s chest on principle. Also, the wanker still owed him five quid and he aimed to collect. “One of my better inventions, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, pounding the blade into another hapless demon. “Love to take a gander up close and personal-like once this is over. Expand upon what I used to do with railroad spikes. Care to be my volunteer?”

“You’re still sour about Berlin,” Crowley drawled as he did whatever it was blokes like Crowley did in a fight. “I told you then, I didn’t know she was with anyone at the time.”

Spike growled. Not that he much cared who Dru shagged nowadays, but the principle of the matter still edged at him. “Not somethin’ to say to a man who holds the key to endin’ your life, mate.”

“You’d be dead before you tried it.”

At this, Spike paused and gave his palm an experimental prick with the edge of the blade. Nothing. A harder prick, though, and he could tell that if he kept pushing, it would be able to break the skin. So like Lucifer’s fire, it trumped the ring. Which meant Crowley had a point, the right bastard.

“Besides,” Crowley went on cheerfully, “you have certainly traded up insofar as life partners go. Just how serious is it with you and—”

This time, he didn’t just snarl—he roared and turned to wallop the demon, King of Hell or not, just once for the bloody suggestion. Crowley held up a hand, which had him suspended in mid-air, then gave a little wink. “Just teasing, William,” the sod replied before returning Spike’s ability to move. “I know a mated couple when I see one. Tell me, does she taste different than Drusilla, with that shiny soul of hers?”

“We live through this and I’m killin’ you.”

“Watching you try would be rather entertaining, so by all means, have at it.”

*~*~*

Harry saw it before it happened—the Stunning Spell he’d aimed at Willow, she deflected with ease, sending it into Nick instead, who shot back twelve feet before thumping uselessly on the ground. Harry held his breath a moment, sure that this would be the cue for the Slayers, but nothing crashed behind him so he remained where he was, wand pointed at a woman he considered to be among his best mates.

“Willow, this is bloody madness!” he yelled, producing another Shield Charm when she sent a torrent of magic his way. “You’re working with the devil!”

“You don’t have any idea how tired I am of hearing that,” Willow snapped, moving forward at a speed that had Harry’s heart thumping like mad. “And don’t you dare, Harry James Potter. Don’t you _fucking _dare.”

Well, that was rather uncalled for. Harry’s brow knitted. “Willow, we—”

“I know!” she roared, her eyes going black and a gust of wind sending her hair forward in a wild explosion of red. “I know. Faith told me. Everything.”

“Faith told you what?”

“That it was a lie—all of it. Hogwarts, you and the others. That you _knew _this entire time what had happened then. That you were my watchdogs, waiting for me to go off the rails.” She waved a hand, and with it went a power wave strong enough that Sam and Dean were knocked off their feet. Wright, who was fighting while standing guard over Nick’s stunned body, stumbled but didn’t fall. “You let me believe you guys cared. You let me believe—”

“We do bloody care!” Harry shot back, aiming another Stunning Spell her way. This one she ducked. “You think we have you over for Christmas each year because we’re _watching _you? You’re a part of our family!”

“Was that before or after you were told to keep an eye on me?”

Bloody hell, he was going to wring Faith’s neck, providing he made it through the battle to do it. This was one of his worst fears realized. While he knew it hadn’t been realistic to hope she’d never learn the truth, having to deal with it now redefined bad timing. “You nearly destroyed the continent, Will,” Harry said. “I’m the Head of the Auror Department. Of course we had to watch you. But that doesn’t mean we don’t love you. We’re all out here because we love you!”

“Siding with the devil is a funny way to show it!”

“You tell him, sweetheart,” the man who Dean had pointed out as Lucifer said, giving her a wink.

Harry aimed his wand at him now, mind racing. _“Sectumsempra!” _he spat, and watched with angry glee as the telltale slashes broke across the man’s chest. But it didn’t knock him off his feet. Rather, he just stumbled back, his eyes going wide.

“Owie!” Lucifer whined, looking down at the wounds, dragging his fingers through the blood. “Was that really necessary?”

“How did The Boy Who Lived end up fighting for the devil?” Willow shrieked, shooting another wave of uncontrolled, wild magic his way. And had Ginny not shown up at his side with a Shield Charm, it would have hit its target.

“Willow!” his wife shouted, eyes blazing. “You’re being stupid. This git is the devil.” She aimed a hex at him that hit its target, and did so without so much as looking in his direction. “Do you really think that the lot of us would band together to bring Hell on Earth? We fought You Know Who, for Merlin’s sake!”

“It’s Dean,” Lucifer squealed, hands flying around his nose, which was now spilling bats. That was a favorite spell of Ginny’s. “He’s corrupted them all!”

“He came here armed with _demons_,” Ginny shot back. “He set your friend’s husband on fire! What the bleeding hell is it going to take to get you to open your eyes? _Stupefy!”_

Lucifer screamed again, either from the power of Ginny’s Stunning Spell or the bats still spilling from his nostrils, Harry didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d never loved his wife as much as he did in that moment.

*~*~*

“What’d I tell you?” Dean groaned as he fought to his feet. “She’s…fucking…awesome.”

He gestured to where Harry and Ginny stood, the latter having just hit Lucifer with what _had _to be the infamous Bat-Bogey Hex.

“They haven’t been able to hit Willow with anything,” Sam grunted in reply, also clamoring to his feet. “That body bind spell would come in really handy right now.”

Behind Sam, Dean saw Spike roar and pounce on the back of a demon sized like the Mountain from _Game of Thrones._ The vamp was on the lean and mean side, but hell, he didn’t so much as flinch before he started pounding the angel blade against the target’s chest. He didn’t stop until the demon was on the ground, staring unblinkingly at the sky above.

“Dude,” Dean called, “I think you got ‘em.”

Spike flashed a fangy grin that, quite frankly, gave Dean the creeps. He liked the guy, but all of the vamps were kind of freaky when they were fanged up. He preferred it when he could pretend they were room-temperature humans.

“All right!” Lucifer shouted. Dean turned in time to see another bat fly out of his nose. Fuck, he wished someone was recording this. “I see a lot of people out here, but notta one of them is my slayer. Faithy Faith Faith?”

_His slayer?_

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled, bringing up the shotgun and taking aim. Angel-killing bullets wouldn’t do jack on Lucifer, but firing one off would sure as fuck feel good.

“Oh, _there _you are.” Lucifer looked him up and down. “Still no clue what she sees in you. I—”

He fired. The bullet struck right above where Harry’s curse had hit him. And being that they were about as effective on Lucifer as throwing confetti, all this accomplished was exorcising some outrage.

“Well, that was rude,” Lucifer said. “You never learn, do you, Dean?”

_Quack, quack, motherfucker._

“Dean!” Sam yelled, but it wasn’t necessary. He knew what was coming. His feet left the ground and he was in the air, zooming forward until he was practically on top of the devil.

“Really, really don’t see it,” Lucifer commented, then grasped Dean by the throat and waved him around. “Faith!” he called, looking over his shoulder. “I have your favorite toy! You want him back, I need to see your pretty face.” He turned and looked at something Dean couldn’t see. “You can bring your friend if you want.” He snapped the fingers of his free hand and a throaty cry lit up the night, chased by the glow of what could only be fire.

Something shattered behind him, and Sam and Wright started yelling in unison.

“No! Get back!”

“Rosie, I swear to fucking—”

“Get back! Get _back_!”

He knew what it was. Of course he did, but fuck how he wanted to be wrong. Dean couldn’t turn left or right—his only option was to look up. And he did so just in time to catch her in an elegant backflip. His heart pounded so hard he was sure it would leap out of his body, dosed heavily on fear and anger and _what the actual fuck was she doing_?

A streak of brilliant blue light collided with her in midair, and when she landed, she looked as fierce and pissed off as Dean had ever seen her.

“You fucking rang?” Faith spat and buried the teeth of her ax into Lucifer’s chest. The shock of the blow sent him rocking back on his feet, and he lost his grip on Dean, who hit the ground hard on his left shoulder.

“Faith,” he croaked, rolling over. “Baby, get back—”

But Faith wasn’t listening to him—or anyone, from the look of things. She planted her foot on the devil’s chest, seized the handle of the ax and tore it free, then yanked back and prepared to swing again.

“Oh, darling,” Lucifer said, patting the place where she’d hit him the first time, “you sure do know the way to my heart.”

“You promised me you’d wait inside!” Dean barked at her. It was such a small point in the moment, but he couldn’t let it go. All of this was for nothing if she got herself hurt or killed.

At this, Faith turned and regarded him. Her eyes were worried but determined. “I think you’ll find I promised you exactly jack shit,” she replied, then swung the ax and brought it down in a graceful arc into the devil’s shoulder.

Then something strange happened. A demon, one of Lucifer’s flunkies, attempted to rush Faith from the side. Dean’s cry of warning died on his tongue—a hair away from making contact, the demon was slingshotted a good twenty feet away, like she was covered by some invisible shield.

Which was exactly what had happened, he realized. Dean twisted his head and found a slightly charred Spike and Buffy fighting back-to-back, their movements so in sync it almost looked choreographed. Missing on Spike’s face was the shock and fury that had consumed Dean a second ago—the same he saw when he looked to Wright and Sam.

“Oh, that’s okay, sweetheart,” Lucifer said, jerking the ax out of his shoulder this time before she had the chance. “I do like it rough. Now hold still—I only want to have to cut you the once.”

He brought the ax down, but like the demon from a second earlier, it rebounded as it came close to contact. The reverberation was strong enough that the weapon tore free of Lucifer’s hands entirely, leaving him just gawking at Faith with something between anger and pride.

“You just keep getting better, don’t you?” he mused, looking her up and down.

“Like a fine fucking wine,” Faith spat, then drew back and backhanded him hard enough he went flying back a few feet. She tore after him and dragged him up by the scruff of the collar. “You want it rough? I’ll give it to you rough.”

And then she let loose. Blow after blow against the devil’s face, the sort of hard punches that, on anyone else, would have caved the skull in. The hard smack of fist meeting flesh echoing each of her breaths as she rained down fury. And the devil just took it, laughing and cooing and having the time of his fucking life.

“Oh, _honey_,” he wheezed between blows, “he isn’t dark enough for you. All he did was rip a few measly souls apart. You need someone who can give it to you just as good. Not some broken human boy.”

“_Honey_,” she spat back, both hands fisting his collar now, “if Dean were that breakable, I woulda shattered him by now. And I learned a long fuckin’ time ago that the really mouthy motherfuckers are always compensatin’ for what they ain’t packing.”

This she punctuated with a head-butt, and the devil went flying again.

Dean watched all of this, climbing to his knees and rotating his sore arm. “Faith…”

A streak of magic burst out of nowhere, arcing toward his slayer with unmistakable intent. But like the ax and the demon, it went wrong—wild. And then Harry was at Dean’s side, screaming the incantation for his Shield Charm, and Ginny aimed another bolt of blue magic at Faith—this one making contact. And for whatever reason, that’s what it took for Dean to get what had happened.

The Slayers had all had a backup plan. A backup plan they’d told no one about.

He’d decide whether to be pissed or not later, but at the moment he couldn’t look away from his girl, ‘cause she was on fucking fire.

“Fine,” Lucifer said from where he’d landed, climbing to his feet. “I can’t touch you—I get it. He’s still in the way.” He looked to Dean and grinned a bloody grin. “I can fix that.”

He raised his hand and Dean knew this time it really was the end. No more flopping doll gags. No more jaunts with gravity. He’d light him on fire the way he had Spike, and Dean had no fucking way to fight that.

Faith threw him a panicked look, then started running for Lucifer at full-speed, but she’d never make it.

Then someone shouted something Dean had only ever heard in movies.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

A brilliant flash of green light burst through the night and hit Lucifer square in the chest. This, unlike the angel bullet, landed its punch. The devil lurched forward, wheezing, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He collapsed to the ground on all fours.

Another burst of green light followed. This one Ginny’s. It also hit its target, sending him now flopping onto his back, a hard scream now peeling through his throat.

Then Faith was upon him, the ax back in her hands, and she was going to finish it. Her arms pulled back, her body in curled in a graceful leap.

“Willow!” the devil croaked. “Willow—”

There was a crack. Willow appeared by his side, harried and terrified, then cracked away once more. Faith fell onto empty space with a scream of frustration, burying the head of the ax into a slab of concrete with enough force the ground shook.

“Goddammit!” she yelled. Then jerked the ax free and took another swing. “God_fucking_dammit!”

Dean didn’t realize he was running until he had her in his arms. It didn’t occur to him until a moment later that he should have been shot clear across the parking lot the second he got close enough to touch her, but maybe the wizards had seen and taken pity—he didn’t know, but she was there with him, against him, and he kissed her hard. Bruising. Not sure still if he wanted to strangle her or cry and celebrate the awesome ass-kicking she’d just given the motherfucking devil.

“I told you not to do that,” he said when he pulled away, pressing his brow to hers. “Told you. But goddamn.” He jerked back and held up a hand, which she met with a high-five that hurt more than he suspected she intended. Slayer adrenaline had to be a bitch.

Faith didn’t answer him. Her gaze was fixed on something over his shoulder. When he turned, he saw Cas standing there looking defeated, and even if he hadn’t just witnessed Willow Apparate the devil to safety, he would have known the thing had been a bust.

“I am sorry,” Castiel said, sounding worse than he looked. “I couldn’t get close to her. Every time, she hit me with magic. I failed you, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “You didn’t. You—”

But then he saw Sam, Wright, and the others storming for them, and knew the battle wasn’t over.


	57. Chapter 57

There’d been a small handful of demons that tried coming in the back, but they were quickly dealt with. Mary _knew _she was supposed to stay back, but her boys were taking on Lucifer and she couldn’t stop herself as she started edging around the corner of the building.

“Mary,” Giles said sternly as he gripped her arm. “We must—” But an eerie green glow in the sky silenced him. Another flashed just after. “_Fuck!_” he hissed, letting her go to run past her toward the front of the building.

Sam and Dean were alive she saw as they made it to the lot—god help her, but she’d rather had lost a slayer than a son. Lucifer and Willow were gone. Dean was holding Faith, which meant the girls had just run out or they hadn’t done what they were told.

“Who the _fuck_ came up with that twist?” Wright roared. His question seemed to be aimed at everyone simultaneously. “I wanna know who the fuck I’m gonna hurt right now!”

“Dad,” Rosalie whined. Nick looked injured in some manner as she held his wobbly body against her. “Not the time.”

Bless her heart, Mary thought as she saw the look her father gave her.

“Shut you’re fucking mouth, Rosalie!” he snapped. “Get Nick the fuck inside and checked out.”

“It was _you_!” Sam shouted as he marched up to Faith and Dean. “Both of you!”

Dawn came bursting from the cantina and made a beeline past everyone to sprint to Sam’s side.

“The fuck?” Faith said breaking her embrace with Dean to push herself up against Sam’s chest. “You best back it up, Sammy.”

“No,” he snarled. He turned his head to his brother. “You fucking idiot! You were the one telling us to hold back! You broke ranks the second he said her name! You should never have come out here while you still were on the Veritaserum!”

Dean didn’t say anything verbally, but his eyes flared with anger.

“Seriously?” Dawn cried, giving Dean an incredulous glare. “You nearly got yourself killed because the devil called out your fuck toy? No wonder why they put Sam in charge, you stupid fuckup!”

Faith whirled from Sam to Dawn and shoved her with enough force she went crashing to the ground on her ass. “Watch your mouth, you little cunt! You shouldn’t even _exist_! Everyone wishes you’d never been made!”

Mary saw it coming before Faith—possibly before even Sam realized what he was doing. Revving back with a growl, Sam punched the Slayer right in the mouth.

“Bloody hell,” Giles whispered.

“Bloody hell,” she returned in kind.

*~*~*

Blinding white rage surged through his body and he knew instantly he couldn’t be controlled. Tearing forward, Dean cracked his fist into Sam’s face. It was once, then twice and then over and over until he’d taken him to the ground.

Sam was no pussy. He used his size to his advantage as he fought back with the same anger and venom. Which was good—Dean was going for blood.

“This is all your fault!” Dawn screamed at the top of her lungs. Dean didn’t know if she was hollering at him or Faith. Her words just pissed him off more.

Maybe he had fucked up and cost them their chance with Willow. Maybe he’d just put Faith on a crash course to self-sacrifice. Maybe the Hellmouth would open and kill them all first.

What he did know is he was gonna make his brother pay for what he’d done and what Dawn had said on his behalf. Let’s see how much Sammy was in charge after he beat him unconscious.

“Jesus fucking Christ, stop them!” He recognized his mother’s voice. The idea of making them stop just seemed to make them both start punching and kicking harder.

Dean had him pinned with his hands around his neck. He was ready to choke the fucking life out of him when a blast of something hit him and flew his body into the air—suspending him in a magical hold that left his feet dangling off the ground.

That’s when he finally paused to look at his brother—he too was being restrained by the same spell—his face and knuckles covered in blood. Dean wasn’t really sure how much was his and how much was Sam’s as he felt the metallic tasting fluid fill his mouth.

Dean spat blood out upon the ground. “Let me go,” he said in a low and cold growl.

“You want more?” Sam taunted breathlessly. “Because I was just getting started.”

“_Enough!_” Giles bellowed. “Castiel! Get the key and the slayers back to the bunker! Spike, escort Dawn home, now.” He walked over to place himself between Sam and Dean. “And for fuck’s sake, you boys get it under bloody control. We need to leave before Lucifer or Willow return.”

Like a switch, the spell ended and Dean came crashing to the ground. Fuck, he hurt. He’d definitely broken his hand and he felt his jaw might be as well. He looked over to see Sam withering in pain as he fought to stand—Dean could tell he’d busted his nose and from the way he was holding himself, broke a few ribs and maybe an arm.

He met his brother’s eyes and gave him a cold sneer. The hurt was worth watching him suffer. Fuck him.

*~*~*

Willow was officially having a mental breakdown. So much had happened so fast and she didn’t know how to process any of it. She was pacing the room frantically as she tore at her hair, nearly ripping it from her scalp. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my—”

“_God! _Shut up!” Michael groaned as he lay on the bed. “For fuck’s sake, come here!”

Pausing from her hysteria, she walked over to the bed to see him holding a fist out toward her. “Take this,” he commanded, opening his hand to reveal nothing.

“Huh?”

“Hair, dumbass!” She looked closely and saw a small tuft of brown hair in his palm. “When I saw shit hitting the fan, I made a preemptive move. They’re Dean’s.”

She plucked the loose strands with her fingers. “Are you thinking Polyjuice?”

“To get the blood, yes. The only way we stand a chance is to sneak in there and get it. Save some for after. That’s when you can work some voodoo and fucking end Winchester once and for all.”

Half that plan she liked. The other half made her kinda queasy. “Do we have to kill him if we lock the Hellmouth permanently? Can’t we just hope Lucifer will be mad at him and call it a day?”

“I just got blasted with the Killing Curse from fucking Harry Potter. I’m _so_ not if the mood. Go get Polyjuice and get me the fucking blood!”

Yeah, she was full queasy now. Nodding, she got to work.

*~*~*

Zack and Kelly carried him from the car to his room. Faith was standing by the bed with folded arms as they laid him down.

“Cas will be here in a minute,” Zack said as he nodded to Faith.

“Try and relax,” Kelly told Dean softly. “We’re gonna step out before I lick your face.”

“Thanks?” he said hesitantly. Kelly went from cute to creepy.

As soon as they were alone, Faith dropped down by his side on the mattress, her eyes filled with more concern than irritation. “Dammit, Ducky,” she whispered.

“Baby,” he sighed as he closed his eyes. Fuck, he hurt. “Zip it till he fixes me.”

He felt her lay a hand gently upon his chest. “Just know I’m gonna kick your ass again in a minute.”

He blacked out until he awoke to the uncomfortable feeling of angel grace healing his wounds—it wasn’t nearly as painless as people assumed as the process was almost a quick replay of every break and bruise. Fluttering his eyes open, he was relieved to be back in working order. “Sorry, Cas,” he told his best friend. “I fucked this all up.”

The angel shook his head and gave him a sympathetic look. “No, he had every intention of using you or someone else to draw Faith out.” He looked up to favor her with the same look. “You two stuck to the plan whether Sam agrees or not—you distracted Lucifer, but I couldn’t get to Willow. She was throwing out magic in erratic bursts—I’m not even sure she was consciously controlling all her actions. She was nervous and upset and scared. I failed by not reaching her in time.”

“Oh, cut it out,” Faith huffed. “Neither one of you failed and neither did I. So we didn’t get Willow converted. Nobody died and they didn’t get no blood. We’re still winning this, guys.”

Cas favored her with a small smile. “I do appreciate your optimism.”

“Just don’t appreciate it too much, big guy,” Dean teased as he pushed himself up against the headboard. “You had your chance.”

Poor Castiel’s cheeks flushed as embarrassment overcame him with the memory. “I…uhh…should go check on Nicholas now.”

“You’re a dick,” Faith said with a playful smack to his shoulder as Cas exited the room in a hurry.

“Yup.” He gave her a crooked grin. She was okay. That’s all that mattered tonight.

A loud bang broke the moment. Dean guessed Sam had either slammed the door to his room or the bathroom. Fuck him—and fuck Dawn too. Bitch had no right jumping into a conversation she wasn’t invited.

“Dean,” Faith’s eyes grew serious. “I don’t think I can stay here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Kitty, how many times we gonna play the room game? This bed is your bed. End of story. Start hanging shit up already. Hell, order some cutesy new comforter set. You like candles? Go nuts. This is your room as long as you want us.”

That hadn’t earned him the response he’d been expecting. She sniffed and he noted her eyes were starting to water, but it wasn’t with sappy tears. “I mean that I think I should leave…the bunker.” She swallowed. “There’s too much shit at stake right now—not to mention how I really feel like I’m stirring up some serious drama between you and little brother.”

“You did _nothing _wrong.” He paused and frowned. “Well you _did_ by not staying the fuck inside like you were supposed to.”

“I mean it, Ducky. My being here is doing more harm than good. Sam and Dawn ain’t gonna stop while I’m here. And everyone else is just gonna focus on the drama instead of the real shit like stopping Will before we gotta do what we don’t wanna do.” She sighed. “I think I oughta pack my bag and go.”

Dean thought about it for a few moments. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He crawled off the bed and started searching for his duffle bag.

“Okay,” Faith said before dissolving into tears. She turned away as a quiet sob shook her body.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said as he rushed around the bed to hug her. “Hold it together just a little longer, baby.” He squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head. “I promise I’ll let you cry or yell or kick my ass whenever we get in the car and hit the road.”

She pulled back and looked up at him in confusion. “You’re dropping me off?”

Now he was confused. “Unless you want me to shower first. I’m probably gonna be a little sketchy to a motel clerk covered in blood.” He chuckled. “Though you got a bit of Lucifer on your shirt.”

She blinked and looked at the mess he was in before looking at herself. She’d fared better before he’d hugged her as his and Sammy’s blood was kinda mixed with what she’d drawn from the devil. Maybe she should change tops before they hit a motel for the night.

“You got a good idea, babe,” he assured her as he went back to his original plan of packing. “Me and Sam ain’t gonna play together after tonight. Not until we get this whole blood and Willow shit taken care of.” He shook his head. “Maybe not after either,” he admitted bitterly. “Since he’s riding the Council’s high horse now—obviously ready to go solo. Maybe two Winchesters and three slayers are too much for one group. You gotta home we can crash?” He started grabbing random pieces of his and hers underwear and bras and shoving it into his duffle.

“You’re coming too?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Quack quack, Miss Kitty,” he teased as he started grabbing her washed tanks and yoga pants. After stuffing those in the bag, he turned to rummage the closet. “I figure we slip on out for the night and call Cas and Harry whenever we find us a good stopping place.” He started plucking shirts and jeans off the hangers. “So, didn’t you say you were an East Coast girl? Got anyone there or should we just drive and wing it?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “It’s all good just the two of us. Probably safer actually. Definitely thinking east since we don’t need to add Wolfram and Hart to the shit-show. One motherfucker at a time, eh?”

When he whirled around with an armful of clothes, he found Faith had stood and walked up behind him. She grabbed his face and drug him down for a desperate and hungry kiss—the kind that would have otherwise sent him straight into a dash to throw her down and bury his cock inside her hot, wet pussy. They’d have to wait a few—at least until they were out of here and he could fuck her good and proper. Make her make those loud moans and cries for him she did when he was making her come. “Mmmm,” he murmured as he stole one last taste of her with his tongue before pulling back. “Maybe I should pack a couple extra belts.”

This time she had a smile as a tear ran down her cheek. “Have you been naughty, Ducky?”

“I think we both deserve a spanking.” He shuffled the clothes to one arm and wiped her tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand, girlfriend.”

*~*~*

The damn man hadn’t even realized what she’d meant in there. Not for one fucking second had it crossed Dean’s mind she’d been implying that she had planned on going solo. For a minute there she’d thought he’d got it when he somberly looked at her and agreed—that’s why she lost her shit—figuring this was where their story ended. It would have been poetically tragic like the rest of her life—have a boyfriend for less than a day.

Thank fucking Chuck her Ducky was a bit slow on the uptake. Leaving _with_ him felt a helluva lot better than leaving him. She didn’t feel good about it—she knew this wasn’t gonna do anything to help him work things out with Sammy in the short term—but it still felt like the right thing to do while they got this apocalypse figured out.

She’d headed on out to the garage and opened the door while he decided to raid the kitchen for supplies to start them on their road trip. They wouldn’t go to Boston, but somewhere west and south. New Orleans maybe or even Florida. They both could use a little sunshine.

Hearing footsteps, she didn’t bother turning around from where she was organizing the trunk. “FYI, you gave me the keys so you better get ready to shut your cake hole because I’m in the mood for some 90s jams.”

He didn’t respond as he continued his approach. She’d bet five dollars he had crammed some food in his mouth before he’d left the kitchen. “You’re as predictable as a Rolex, Mr. Winchester,” she teased as she slowly turned around.

She knew something was wrong the second she saw him. He wasn’t carrying anything but a knife. And those eyes—those gorgeous green orbs she loved looking into no matter what emotion he was broadcasting—were giving her a look she’d never seen on him before. She didn’t have time to react before a burst of light erupted from his palm and her body froze—magic and fear paralyzing her to the spot.

“Don’t try anything.” The gravelly voice was her boyfriend’s, but the tone was all wrong. It was rushed and a little nervous.

“Willow,” she rasped as it all came crashing into place. “Will, whatever you’re about to do, please don’t.” She saw the witch pull out a small flask. “_Please_,” she begged. “He’s coming any second. Just go and I won’t even tell him you were here.” She’d hoped the knowledge would have distracted her long enough to weaken the bind.

“You’ll see the truth soon enough.” Dean’s voice sounded ominous coming from Willow.

Terror hit her like freight train and in desperation she released the loudest scream of her life as “Dean’s” hand grasped her arm and sliced her wrist with the blade.

“_No!_” She heard a crash and the door to the bunker fly open so fast it slammed the wall. “_No!_” her Ducky roared as his bootsteps echoed across the garage. There was a click and then a gunshot rang out.

Willow lurched forward as a look of shock and pain overtook her. Dean had hit her in the arm with a bullet. She dropped the knife, but not the blood. Then she Apparated.

“_SON OF A BITCH!_” Dean shouted as he ran toward Faith and stopped short when he saw her bloody arm. He looked down at the knife and then up to Faith’s eyes—these were her Ducky’s—filled with terror and fury. “Son of a bitch,” he croaked as he grasped her and pulled her to his chest.

There was a commotion of noise as voices and footsteps poured into the garage. Dean released her and whirled around, gun raised and ready to fire.

“What the fuck?” Spike growled as he and Buffy led the charge forward. Zack and Kelly, along with Wright, Giles and Mary were all in the first wave. Over their shoulders she could see the looming head of Sam as he too rushed forward.

“Back!” Dean yelled, waving the gun. “They got Polyjuice Potion!” He was giving everyone a long, hard look.

“Oh my god,” Buffy whispered as she ignored the warning and came right up to Faith, gingerly raising her wrist. “She got the blood.”

Faith felt angry and guilty tears running down her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered so low only Buffy and Dean could hear—and likely the other vamps, but whatever. “I thought it was Dean until I turned around and saw the eyes.” She turned away and looked into the trunk, contemplating if she could just crawl inside and shut the lid.

“Wait,” Zack said loudly. “What the hell were you two doing down here with the garage open?”

“You tell us after everything tonight, you two were running away?” Wright sounded positively pissed.

“Add it to my list of bad ideas,” Dean responded. “I told Faith we should get the hell out of Dodge. Way too many motherfuckers under one roof. Ain’t nobody got room to breathe or think.”

Well, Faith knew the Veritaserum had officially worn off because the bastard was covering for her. They both knew this was all her fault—she’d even teased him when he suggested she wait on him to head out to the car.

_“Ducky, I think I can make it five minutes without you all up my ass.”_

_“I haven’t been up your ass yet, but I’m more than ready if you are.”_

_“Only if you let me stick something up yours.”_

_He shrugged and gave her an easy grin. “Seems fair. We’ll discuss it later.” He kissed her and tossed her the keys. “Try not to scratch either of my babies.” _

“You two were heading off into the night—unprotected I might add—and had no intention of letting anyone know?” Faith heard the slight twinge of hurt in Mary’s voice. She’d probably be offended too if her son had tried to give her the slip—though she’d probably kick his ass.

“Look,” Dean’s voice softened a notch at his mom’s inquiry. “It was temporary—we already planned on calling in the morning.”

“I can’t believe this,” Sam said to no one in particular before throwing up his hands. “Nice job once again.”

Faith could feel Dean’s temperature rising as he turned and tugged her back enough to shut the trunk. “Fuck this and fuck you.” He turned to Buffy as he let her go. “You need to do demon checks and full cavity searches on everyone here—if she used my face, they could be using anyone’s.”

“Where are you going?” Buffy asked in a low voice.

“Dunno yet,” he answered as he placed a hand on the small of Faith’s back and started guiding her to the passenger side of the car. “I’ll check in with Cas. If you pass the security check, I’ll make sure he lets you know. Looks like you girls are off house arrest.” He opened the door for Faith to get inside, shutting it after she slid into the seat.

She tuned out everything until Dean got in and handed her the flannel shirt he’d been wearing. She exchanged it for the car keys and he started up the Impala and started backing it out without waiting for people to move. His jaw was clenched and his eyes remained focused on the windshield and rear view mirror until they pulled away from the bunker, burning rubber as he floored it down the road.

“Ducky,” she said after the lights of home were out of sight.

“If you apologize for that, I’ll reach over and slap you, Kitty,” he warned. “That was a trick—one we didn’t see coming. She was gonna sneak in one way or another and find you or Rose no matter what.”

“We don’t know that.”

“And we don’t know if anyone else is using juice or under the Imperius Curse. We should’ve checked that right after we got back.”

Faith wrapped the cut on her wrist with the already bloody and dirty shirt. Not the most sanitary of options, but her immune system was stout enough to take it. “You forgot the snacks,” she pouted.

He barked a laugh and finally gave her a look. He was obviously worried—she was too—but she’d broken through his broody exterior. “How long until that quits bleeding? We need to stop?”

She shook her head. “No. It ain’t as bad as yours was. It’ll stop when my adrenaline wears off.”

“Good. Because we are gonna drive until I can’t take it anymore. Then, I’m pulling over and we’re having fucking sex.”

She wasn’t one to argue with a good plan. “Afterward I get to drive.”

“Pretty sure you’ll be driving from the time I put her in park, but sure.” With a wink, he turned the radio on loud and they headed off into the night. Together.


	58. Chapter 58

No one else in the bunker was Polyjuiced-up. Spike had determined that right off, saying that while Willow might have been wearing Dean’s face, she hadn’t taken his smell and everyone else smelled like who they were supposed to. And once he mentioned it, Buffy had realized he was right. She smelled Willow by where the blood had been spilled, though wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing. It might be better for group morale if they could blame all the tension on someone else.

Unfortunately, there was no test for the Imperius Curse, Harry said. That was something his department had been working on for a while now, but he had offered to teach them how to throw it off, as he had once been taught by Barty Crouch Jr. They would have their first lessons in the morning.

Which was all well and fine, except Buffy couldn’t sleep.

Over time, couples assumed each other’s habits. Buffy was now a pacer—she found the movement, limited as it was, helped her think. And she was now pacing a line in the room she shared with Spike as her mate ranted about inconsiderate wankers and the dopey slayers who got tangled up with them.

Had it really been just a day since she and Faith had sat at the kitchen table and discussed how neither of them wanted to die? Buffy wasn’t unaccustomed to days that felt like years, but damn, she felt like she’d had a run of them as of late. The uncharacteristically optimistic version of her slayer sister had been so cocksure and hopeful that she’d allowed herself to believe it too. Think that maybe this once things could go their way. Perhaps that was what had doomed them.

Spike was in a tizzy because Faith’s departure put Buffy on the fast-track to self-sacrifice, but Buffy wasn’t letting herself think that far ahead just yet. First of all, the ingredients being collected had been a matter of time, especially if Dean’s plan failed, because odds were great they wouldn’t get a shot like that again. While she wasn’t entirely familiar with the devil, she figured that someone like Lucifer could only be fooled with a gambit like that the once. And there was no way she would have let herself keep holed up in the bunker indefinitely; neither would Faith or Rosalie.

The second reason she wasn’t thinking that far ahead was the Hellmouth was still in their court—literally. Lucifer and Willow would have to knock the walls down and slaughter everyone inside to get to it. And even without Faith and Dean here to stand between them, they still had a hell of a defense lined up. Harry and Ginny had both hit Lucifer with the Killing Curse tonight—if Hermione and Ron added their firepower, they might manage in doing him in. And if not, well, Buffy wasn’t so shoddy with an ax, herself.

Her phone rang, cutting through the fog in her head. Spike jerked to his feet and glared at the device as she pulled it from her pocket.

“Dean,” she said, examining the caller ID.

“Tell him to turn the bloody hell around if he fancies seein’ another sunrise,” Spike snapped. “The yellow-bellied wanker just sentenced you to death and he’s off his rocker if he thinks I’m gonna take that sittin’ down. And if she jumps in, just remind her I’m good at doin’ in slayers, too.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because more threats of violence are going to help the situation.” She shook her head and lifted the phone to her ear. “Dean? You guys okay?”

“It’s me, B.”

“Faith.” She glanced to Spike, whose nostrils were still in full flare mode. “Same question.”

Faith released a long, trembling sigh. “Fuck, I dunno. We’ve stopped for gas and Dean’s gone in to get bandages and road snacks. The cut’s better but I think lookin’ at it freaks him out a bit.”

“You’re calling from his phone?”

She snorted. “This thing is ridiculously easy to snag from him. Do it on the regular, sometimes more than once a day, and he hasn’t caught me once.”

In spite of herself, Buffy felt a grin coming on. “You’ve been leaving him dirty pictures, haven’t you?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Another long breath. “Listen… Odds are good we’re gonna be back in a few hours. This shit goes anymore sideways, and I can’t let you bear that on your own.”

Buffy tossed Spike a pointed look, knowing he’d heard that. Some of the fire in his eyes waned and gave a short nod. “I appreciate that,” she replied. “Not the bit where we’re the apocalypse-stoppers, but we need you here. Both of you. Dean has a non-academic way of looking at things that the Watchers here—current and former—seem to completely overlook. And you, of course.”

“Of course.”

“We’re still not the solution, right? That hasn’t changed.”

“I ain’t in a rush to die, though I might have come a bit closer tonight.” A pause. “Buffy, look… I said some bad shit about Dawn. I was hot and she hit him below the belt, but that ain’t an excuse. I shoulda kept my trap shut.”

Buffy swallowed. In all honesty, she’d done her best to not think about the ugly words the four of them had spat at each other. But she found, when she started talking, that she meant what she said with utter certainty. “Yeah, you’re right. I know she’s a brat and I know she’s been hard to be around recently, but she is my sister and I would die for her and what you said to her tonight was beyond the pale.”

“I know.”

“But she was wrong too. She blamed you and Dean immediately—she and Sam both did—and it was my damn plan. And… I love my sister, but she’s been pushing at you nonstop since you were mojo’d back to life. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you haven’t done much to push back. You’ve had some pretty impressive restraint, because I would have smacked her at least once by now.”

Faith barked a laugh. “Don’t think I haven’t thought it.”

“I know you have. And no one can expect anyone to take that lying down forever. It was only a matter of time before you snapped and hit her back. I get that.” Buffy blew out a breath. “Guess what I’m saying is, yeah, what you said to her would have the older sister in me screaming for an ass-kicking under normal circumstances, but the amount of wrong in this scenario is still way heavy on her side. I’m going to talk with her and Sam before you two get back. See if I can diffuse this at all.”

“Fuck, B, not sure playing den mommy is gonna help the situation. Sammy ain’t gonna wanna listen to you and Dawn—”

“They can both suck it up and deal. I’m stronger than both of them and not afraid to leave a bruise or two.”

“Well, don’t do me any favors.”

“Not just for you. We have more important things to be worrying about than a grudge from more than fifteen years ago.” A beat. “Plus, and I know you know this, but Dean and Sam are close. Like, super close. All this stuff is just putting a wedge between them and with the very real possibility that some of us won’t make it, neither would forgive themselves if something happened to the other and they were in a fight.”

“Shit. Way to make me feel better.”

“Not everything’s about you, you know,” Buffy replied dryly. “And even so, I’m laying at least ninety percent of the blame on Dawn.”

“Just ninety?”

“Faith.”

“I know. You’re right. And Dean knows it, too, though he hasn’t said it. He’s been growly and broody since we hit the road.”

Buffy snorted. “Just your type.”

“Shut it.” A pause, then a sigh. “Ahh, shit, I better go,” Faith said. “We’ll see you soon, B. Don’t go dyin’ without me.”

“Same goes.”

Buffy lowered the phone and disconnected the call, then turned to meet Spike’s expectant gaze. He’d reclaimed his seat on the bed. “You heard all of that, right?”

He nodded. It seemed whatever he’d heard had also doused his own fire, at least enough that he wasn’t snarling and threatening to hack Dean up into little pieces anymore.

“What’s the plan, Slayer?” he asked softly. “Know you have one.”

Buffy sighed, leaning against the dresser. “Well, for starters, the in-fighting absolutely has to stop. I meant what I said to her—she goes after Dawn and yeah, my claws might come out, but Dawn’s been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ for days now and I’m honestly impressed that Faith held on as long as she did.”

Spike swallowed and looked away. It was hard for him to side against Dawn in anything, Buffy knew, and she loved him for it. But she also knew he wasn’t blind and he wasn’t about to give anyone a pass for bad behavior when he was so skilled at calling it out.

“Bit has her reasons,” he said loyally.

“Yeah. Remember the first thing you ever said to me?”

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Somethin’ about killin’ you, all balls and swagger.”

“Remember the time—”

“I get the point, Slayer.”

“Yeah, well, Dawn was there too. All those times.” She paused, frowning. “Well, not there in the literal, she-was-there sense, but just as much as she was ‘there’ for the Faith body-swap incident. You and me planning to take down Angel. You kidnapping Willow and Xander, who she had a crush on, by the way. You trying to kill me when you had the Gem of Amara, then again with Adam. You—”

“This goin’ somewhere, love, or you just fancy rehashin’ the past?”

“My point is she has selective hatred,” Buffy replied. “Hell, she didn’t even give Angel as much crap as she’s given Faith and he… Well, he did a lot of bad.”

“Pesky soul clause,” Spike muttered.

“Yeah, well, Angel also stalked and seduced a fifteen year old girl in between warning her of her impending death.”

“Really can’t imagine why you two kids didn’t work it out.”

At this, Buffy grinned and walked over to him. “There were reasons,” she said, throwing her legs astride him before taking position on his lap, grinning when he growled and seized her hips. “One very…very big reason.”

Spike nipped at her lips. “Yeah?”

Buffy nudged his nose with hers. “I could go for the obvious reason—kidnapping, massive trauma, death.”

“Slayer—”

“But the _biggest _reason…” She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and grinned when he moaned into her mouth. “Is about to make me a very, very happy slayer.”

He smirked and pulled her hard against him, pushing his hips up so his erection nudged her through her leggings. “Oh yeah?” he replied, slipping a hand under her top. “Thought you were gonna go scold the kiddies.”

“Kiddies can wait.” Buffy took his mouth, whimpering when he growled against her. Damn, his kisses were crack. She’d thought so the first time they’d been thrust together, a million years ago under Willow’s Will Be Done spell, then again even in the midst of pure hell at Wolfram and Hart. Time hadn’t worn the bloom off that rose a bit. And now, right now, with the world falling apart around them, she needed to feel him. Needed _him_. “Slayer want now.”

“Well, what Slayer wants, Slayer gets.”

Buffy grinned as he stripped her leggings down her legs. “Damn right.”

*~*~*

Dean kicked the door shut, tossed their bag onto the table by the window, then spun Faith around to face him. She seemed to be ready, and—thank fuck—as eager as he was, for she all but leaped into his arms as his mouth came crashing down on hers. The fatigue he’d felt crowding him on the road abruptly took a hike, shoved aside by the familiar sensation of _oh shit, we survived_. And _oh shit, we could die_. And just plain _oh shit_, because nothing about their current situation had much of a sunny side at the moment. That shitshow at the cantina. Sammy. Then realizing that some motherfucker wearing his face was touching, hurting, his slayer?

Yeah. Dean had been braced for another brawl. It was a damn good thing they’d busted a move out of the joint when they had, or he and Sam likely would have ended up bloodying each other up again. Cathartic as that might feel in the moment, other things—this, for instance—would feel a fuck of a lot better.

It was heady knowing she was as desperate for him as he was for her. He didn’t know if he’d ever get over that—ever really accept it, because, well, she was Faith. She could have anyone she wanted—and had—but she kept wanting him. Liked him enough to let him call himself her boyfriend, put herself between him and the motherfucking devil, and have his back when it seemed no one else would, not even his little brother.

“Off,” he said, tugging at her top.

“Mmm,” she replied against his mouth. “Gotta let me go first, Ducky.”

“Nope. Not doin’ that.”

“You want me to rip it?”

“Hell yes,” he replied as his mouth tore down her throat. “You ripping your own clothes off to fuck me is the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.”

She chuckled, then gasped when he tongued one of her nipples through her shirt. “Unh…and as much fun as that is…” She flipped their positions so fast he felt a bit dizzy, then her warmth disappeared and his back hit the admittedly uncomfortable spring of the motel mattress. But Dean was not about to complain—not when she was whipping her shirt over her head, leaving him to admire the way her breasts filled her bra. “Should probably go easy on the clothes, don’t you think?”

Dean sat up and pulled her so she was between his legs. “You’re no fun,” he replied, reaching around behind her to snap the clasp.

“Aww, no? Really?” Faith shucked her bra, then cupped her breasts for him. “Well, I guess I’ll just take these and go where I’m more apprecia—”

“Uh uh. You’re goin’ nowhere.” He solidified this by wrapping his arms around her waist—hey, a guy could pretend he was strong enough to hold her, right?—and buried his face between her breasts before sucking one peak into his mouth. And then, _yes_, she was combing her hands through his hair, nails along his scalp, making those sounds that drove him absolutely out of his fucking mind.

In this place, what had happened out there earlier, and what was likely to happen tomorrow, didn’t matter. It was just them. The rest of the world could go fuck itself. Those were the rules right now.

Faith dropped her hands to his shoulders and shoved. Then she was tearing and his belt and yanking down his jeans, and _yes, _she had his cock in her hand and started pumping. Not a slow rhythm, either—hard and bruising, like he wanted it right now. Only if she kept that up, he’d leave the party early and as much fun as it was to come on her, coming _in_ her was his favorite hobby. There was literally nothing like having a slayer clench around your dick. Hurt in all the right ways and made him pretty much accept that sex would never be good in his book again if it wasn’t with her.

“Faith,” Dean gasped, grasping her wrist to stay her movements. “Baby, work with me here.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Thought I was.”

“I need your goddamn cunt. Give it to me.”

She blinked, then smirked at him. “Ooh, feelin’ bossy, are we?”

No, desperate was more like it, but he’d take bossy. “Yeah. Don’t make me get the belt.”

She released his cock and started fumbling with his jeans again, her gaze never leaving his. A moment later, she held up a long strip of leather, her face all challenge. “This belt?”

“On you, Kitty. You’re the one who stormed the castle when you were supposed to stay the fuck inside.”

“Never been much one for orders,” she replied, kicking off her pants and the scrap of lace that passed as underwear in her world. Then she climbed over him and rolled her hips slowly so the head of his cock dragged down the seam of her pussy until it was notched where it wanted to be. The belt rested by his head, a silent tease. “So whatever you do, don’t order me to fuck you right now.”

Dean grasped her hips. “Faith, don’t you fucking—”

She impaled herself on him and goddamn, he would never tire of that sight. Of her with her head thrown back, like he could possibly feel as good as she did. Her nipples pebbled and straining toward him, his cock buried inside her. She gave one roll of her hips, then another, then started to move in earnest. Hard, staccato strokes that had the bed whining beneath them and the air filled with the loud smack of flesh striking flesh. Dean dug his fingers into her hips and pulled, again and again, every time she lifted up, every time her pussy drew back, he was there to jerk her home. Her hands found his chest, fingers digging into skin, then her eyes were on him, dark and intent, her cheeks flushed and sweat plastering strands of raven hair to her skin. She held his gaze while she fucked him, and yeah, that was his favorite part. The way she sought him out when they were together, that she wasn’t pretending she was with someone else. That he was what she wanted.

Inspired, and wanting to be closer to her, Dean snatched up the belt and whipped it around her back to pull her tighter against him. She gave him one of those saucy smirks that undid him every goddamn time, and leaned back against the leather.

“Ducky wanna play?” she asked.

“Ducky wanna fuck,” he growled. He dropped his gaze to where they were joined, the view better now, and watched for a few seconds as his juice-slick cock plunged into her again and again. “Fuck, babe.”

There was only one view that might be better. Abruptly, Dean released his grip on the belt, which Faith had clearly not expected, because she was still pushing against the pressure. He seized her wrist in her surprise and yanked her down to the bed.

“Get on all fours,” he panted against her ear before brushing a kiss there. “Ass in the air, face on the mattress.”

“You really are barkin’ orders tonight,” Faith replied, but she didn’t protest. Dean took the opportunity to kick his jeans off the rest of the way before turning back to her, and hell if the sight of her luscious ass in the air, waiting for him didn’t have him about to blow, he didn’t know what would. But he wasn’t ready yet—he still needed to feel her come.

He climbed up behind her, dipping a hand between her legs. “Think someone likes being bossed,” he said, nudging her clit with his forefinger. “Goddamn, you are always so wet for me.”

“Dean, if you’re not gonna put your dick to use, I’m gonna have to get myself off.”

He smirked, taking his cock in his free hand and slipping it against her slit. “I’d love to watch that,” he said. “But not now.”

He plunged back inside of her and they both groaned. Faith pushed her ass back against him, and damn if that wasn’t a pretty sight. Dean gripped her hips and began to pound, his gaze glued to the sight of his dick disappearing inside her again and again, his blood on fire, his head swimming in her scent and the illicit smacking of their bodies coming together.

Then he thought of tonight, how fucking terrified he’d been when he’d realized she was on the battlefield, before he’d known about whatever spell they’d had the wizards work to make them untouchable. How for a second he’d thought it would be over, that Lucifer would just grab her and flee, and a surge of anger he hadn’t let himself feel earlier exploded in his chest.

So he did what felt natural and smacked her disobedient ass.

“Fuck yeah,” Faith crooned. “Do me like that, Ducky.”

God, just when he thought she couldn’t possibly get any better. Now she wanted him to smack her? Well, he wouldn’t leave her wanting, so he did. Harder this time, and even in the dark of the room, he could make out the impression of his hand against her skin. And Faith fucking loved it, because of course she did. Because she was the perfect goddamn woman. And he couldn’t go like this much longer—his balls were tight and an exquisite pressure bunched along his spine. He needed to feel her come.

His gaze fell on the belt beside her and inspiration struck again. He seized it, looped it once, twice, then reached beneath her so the leather scored her clit with every thrust.

“Oh shit. Oh _shit_.” She was growing hotter, tighter, wetter, those fantastic muscles of hers beginning their magic.

Dean flicked his wrist so the belt smacked her sex, and fuck was he ever rewarded. He watched her bite into her fist, not that it did much good to stifle her cry, and it was all over. She was spasming hard around his cock, that exquisite pressure that was so fucking good it almost hurt, and he was helpless but to follow her. He croaked out her name, because it was all he could think of, and bucked as his dick jerked and unloaded inside her.

When his brain came back online, he found he was on his back, panting and staring at the popcorn ceiling. He was lying sideways on the bed, but didn’t have the strength to give a fuck at the moment. He heard her beside him, sucking in air, and turned his head to admire the way her tits moved when she breathed.

“Think I mighta blacked out there for a minute,” Faith said, a somewhat giddy laugh rolling off her lips. She pressed her palms to her eyes. “Shit, Ducky.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” She turned and favored him with a grin that did stupid things to his heart. He grinned back and lifted an arm, only letting himself relax completely when she snuggled up beside him. They were both sticky and sweaty, and her skin felt like it burned about a thousand degrees, but he craved it. The feel of her against him, knowing it was where she wanted to be.

Dean pressed a kiss to her temple. “So you’re saying I’m still Number One.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a yes, right?”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t let anyone but Number One call himself my boyfriend.”

“So that’s it, is it? The sex is what keeps you around?”

Faith blew a raspberry at him and rolled her eyes. “The sex is what got my attention,” she said, nuzzling his shoulder. Then, softer, almost like she didn’t want him to hear, she added, “You’re what keeps me around.”

A burst of pure fucking euphoria shot through him, one so potent it was nearly better than fucking her had been. Hell, maybe it was, because this sensation didn’t wane. The more he thought on it, replayed the words, the hotter he burned. The better he felt.

Yeah, Ducky was a sucker. But fuck if he gave a shit anymore.

*~*~*

It was late—super late, actually, but she knew Sam and Dawn were up. Their voices were below the normal human hearing range, but being that she was something other, they couldn’t play possum on her.

Buffy released a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. While Spike had done a remarkable job of relaxing her earlier, she didn’t think there was an orgasm cap that would prepare her for needing to assume the role of Mom. Especially since Sam’s actual mother was currently holed up with her Watcher. But this was a talk not even Mary Winchester could give and one Buffy couldn’t avoid any longer.

All right. Tough love time. Buffy raised her fist and pounded on the door.

The sound of talking stopped. Then, “You did hear that too, right?”

“Just pretend to be asleep,” her sister replied. “Whatever it is can wait.”

“No,” Buffy said to the door, loud enough to be heard but not so loud she was shouting, “it really can’t. Open up.”

There was a long groan. “Buffeeeeee,” Dawn said, her voice carrying closer to the door along with the sound of footsteps. She cracked the door open and leveled her with the patented Summers scowl. “Buffy. Seriously. I know vamps are nocturnal, but do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Don’t even pretend you were sleeping. Either one of you.”

“We could have been having sex!”

“Dawn!” Sam said, sitting up and giving Buffy a not unappreciated view of his slab-like chest, which was nicely accentuated in the soft glow of the lamplight.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “This better be good,” she said, storming back to the bed, “or I’m telling Spike you were ogling my boyfriend.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to smirk. “Go right ahead. The sex when he’s extra growly and possessive is, I don’t mind telling you now that you’re an adult, ah-freakin’-mazing.”

“You are gross.”

“And you two need to listen.” She shut the door behind her. “Faith called about an hour ago.”

They both went rigid at the name.

“Odds are strong she and Dean will be on the road back home in a few hours. They just needed some time to cool off.”

Sam snickered and ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Thanks for the head’s up.”

“She’s not here to warn us,” Dawn chimed in, her eyes narrowed. “She’s here to lecture us. You heard what Faith said about me earlier, right?”

“Yes,” Buffy said with as much patience as she could muster. “I have, as you know, excellent hearing and I happened to be standing right there. She actually apologized for that.”

“To you, not to me. Excuse me if that doesn’t exactly cut it.”

“I told her that I would have slapped you a long time ago if the situation were reversed.”

Sam jerked his head up at that. “Now, hold the fuck on—”

Buffy held up a hand. “No, no. You don’t get to do that. Not after you flew off the handle earlier and freaked out on your brother for no reason.”

He barked an incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?”

“The Slayer Battle of Blackwater? That was _my _plan,” Buffy spat. “I approached Harry and Hermione about finding ways to make us invulnerable so we could join the fight. They practiced on me for hours, then I called in Rosalie and Faith to bring them in on it. And no, I don’t regret it. The big headline before you and Dean decided to brawl like children is we won. Lucifer was wounded and as good as the plan was, there was no way Castiel was getting close enough to Willow. Her magic was erratic and even with three wizards, we couldn’t get close to her.” She turned to glare at Sam. “I know you’re new to this whole Slayer business, so I’ll give you a pass this once, but here’s the hard lesson: Slayers are warriors, not bait. And if we’re bait, we’re bait while we’re warriors. We fight. If bleeding’s an issue, we find a way around that. Like I did. There was no way I was going to stay cooped up inside if he lit Spike on fire again—which he did. There was no way Rose was going to wait inside with her boyfriend, her father, her uncles, and her Watcher on the line. And there was no way Faith would remain still if Dean was threatened. Lucifer knew we were both there, which is why he targeted both Spike and Dean at the same time. He knew it’d get us to come out and _we _knew that he’d use that ploy, so we prepared for it. The reason we didn’t tell anyone? Well, three guesses. The only person I told was Spike and that was only because he understands slayers better than anyone under this roof does. So if you want to be mad at someone, Sam, if you want to hit someone, start with me.”

Sam just stared at her, his mouth somewhat slack.

“And yeah, Dean got pissed when Lucifer threw his fascination with Faith into the mix. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same if it was Dawn? Or that Spike wouldn’t have done the same if it was me? Or Nick if it was Rose?” Buffy barked an incredulous laugh and tipped her head back. “Which, again, is why we prepared to fight. And it was smart, Faith going after Lucifer. Out of everyone here, she’s the only one we know for sure he wants alive, and while that’s true, that’s his weakness. I’m not sure how you Winchester boys are used to fighting, but back in Sunnydale, when we discovered an enemy’s weakness, we exploited the hell out of it. And if you didn’t notice, she, Harry and Ginny came pretty damn close to killing him.”

“I… He…”

“And you,” she said, turning now to Dawn. “Get over it.”

Her sister blinked at her. “What?”

“This whole thing with Faith? Get the hell over it now. In case you missed it, Dean’s pretty crazy about her, and you’re over here causing problems with the other most important person in his world.” She gestured at Sam. “I know Faith made mistakes—_she _knows she made mistakes, but—”

“Hold on,” Sam jumped in, “Dawn’s not making me do anything. And Dean’s not thinking clearly where she’s concerned.”

“Oh, and you’re the poster child for levelheadedness?” Buffy retorted, arching her eyebrows. “What has Faith done to you personally that warrants the level of hostility you keep throwing her way?”

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, and gave Dawn an apologetic look.

“Also, Sam? Might consider that even with all the stuff Dawn’s said to Faith’s face these past few days, she didn’t blow up at her until she came after Dean.”

Dawn’s jaw dropped. “Buffy, she’s—”

“I know!” Buffy snapped, turning back to her sister. “You know why? Most of the stuff she did, she did to me. Yes, there was that time when she broke into the house and made with the threats, but do you really want to open that door, Dawnie? Because one of your favorite people in the world _introduced _himself to me by threatening to kill me and all my friends. Do you really need me to run down Spike’s rap sheet?”

“That’s different,” Dawn shot back. “Spike’s a demon. That was his job.”

“So we’re saying that only demons can change now, not people _with_ souls? And somehow both of you are forgetting that not three months ago, Faith sacrificed herself to save Rosalie.” Buffy looked back to Sam. “I get the feeling that if we start digging through all the crap that people under this roof have done to each other, we’d be here for a damn long time. In the meantime, by holding onto grudges, you’re making like Faith is the only one who ever made a misstep in the past and are still punishing her for stuff that happened _mostly _to someone else more than a decade ago. So yes, I understand why Faith snapped tonight. If she was still the person you remembered, Dawnie, she would have slit your throat the first time you opened your mouth. But she’s not. So grow the fuck up.”

Dawn’s eyes were wide and brimming with tears. Buffy forced herself to not be moved.

With a long, deep breath, she said, “Lucifer getting the blood was inevitable if we didn’t get to Willow tonight. So our focus now needs to be finding a different way to close the Hellmouth when they come for it. And this is no one’s first rodeo, so we all know there’s a good chance that not all of us will make it.” She glanced back to Sam. “So think about how you want to remember the people who are important to you and do what you can to make that happen.”

Buffy turned and headed for the door without another word. She wasn’t sure if her words had landed at all and didn’t care at the moment—she was tired, cranky, and wanted to curl up with her vampire before she had to think anymore of what the next fight might have in store.

*~*~*

Faith was almost asleep, resting against Dean’s chest, when his voice interrupted the haze of exhaustion that had settled around her.

“You called Buffy?”

She poked an eye open arm and found him scrolling through his phone with his free hand—the one not wrapped around her. For a moment, her heart caught—hell, every time he picked the thing up, she figured _now _would be when he discovered the neat little library of videos she’d left for him. But he seemed completely blind to the camera app. Maybe once this mess with Lucifer was over and he was on an actual case again, but there wasn’t much need for photos at the moment.

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “When you stopped for gas.”

“I didn’t have my phone on me?”

“I’m really good at pickin’ pockets, Ducky.”

Dean tore his gaze from the screen to smirk at her. “You coulda just asked, you know.”

Yeah, well, she’d wanted to make a video first—try to put into words how much everything had meant to her. The way he’d immediately just assumed that if she was leaving, he was too. The way he’d covered for her stupidity back in front of everyone. All the mushy shit she didn’t know how to tell him face-to-face, and wasn’t sure she ever would. Hell, the idea to call B hadn’t occurred to her until after she was done.

“I told her we’d be back soon.”

Dean’s smile faded, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna go back?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.” He released a long breath and placed his phone aside before hugging her tighter to him. “But yeah, I know.”

“Also needed to apologize about the shit I said to Dawn.”

A low growl rumbled through him. “Fuck that.”

“Sorry for what I said, but not that I said it, if that makes sense.” Faith offered a watery smile. “It was only a matter of time before I blew up at her. Even B said so.” She was quiet a moment. “It was B’s plan, by the way. You never asked but she recruited me and Ro to be ready to join the fight in a way that wouldn’t get us cut up. And I ain’t sorry for that.”

Dean looked at her, his eyes almost black in the dark of the room. “You scared the shit outta me.”

“Well, we’re even.”

“You realize how close you came, though, out there? I could touch you almost immediately. And Sam…” He turned away, his jaw tight.

“The spell they used was so anyone who wasn’t a friend couldn’t get close. Home team didn’t count.”

“Guess the next time you use it, make sure Sammy’s not on the list.”

Faith drew a circle around one of his nipples. “Pretty sure you spanked me harder than he hit me.”

“Not even remotely the same, Miss Kitty.”

“Well, I obviously liked one more than the other. But Ducky? For real, I ain’t worth fighting him over.”

Dean turned back to her and opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then caught himself before the words could come out. Instead, he stared at her for a moment before drawing her close for a soft kiss. And though he didn’t say the words, she felt them in the way his lips moved against hers.

_Yes, you are._

“We really gotta go back, huh?” he asked hoarsely when he pulled away. “No cashing it in and hittin’ Six Flags?”

“Maybe when it’s over.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

In spite of the dread curling her insides, Faith found herself grinning as she craned her neck to kiss him again. “I hope you do.”


	59. Chapter 59

While he truly felt there was no place like home—and it felt fucking _amazing _to say he had one—there were certain aspects of motel life Dean appreciated. First, you didn’t have to worry about the volume of the sexcapades. Second, you didn’t have to wait or hurry for time in the shower.

He and Faith took full advantage of those perks when they woke up not long after dawn. They’d played under the water spray as it went from warm to tepid to frigid. After toweling each other off, they agreed their break was over and headed back toward the bunker.

Another advantage to life on the road was Dean knew all the best eats in a two hundred mile radius of Lebanon. That’s what brought them to one of his favorite diners in Kansas. Top three at least.

“I love pie,” he said as he sat down at the booth across from Faith.

She favored him a smirk as she picked up the menu off the table. “Guessing why you chose this one?”

“That and they make kick-ass breakfast burritos. And omelets. And burgers. And chili cheese nachos.”

“Have often you been to this joint?”

“Dean!” A perky blonde in her mid-fifties came walking out from the kitchen with a pot of coffee in her hand. “A little early for you. Heading out of coming in?”

“Mornin’ Mary-Lou,” he greeted her with a smile. He glanced at Faith as she quietly snickered. “Once or twice,” he told her with a shrug.

The woman came over and started filling the cups on the table.

“Faith, this is Mary-Lou. She runs the College Street Café. Best cherry pie in the state.”

“He ain’t too hard to impress,” Mary-Lou said as she pulled a few cups of creamer from her apron. She looked around. “No Sam?”

“Sammy’s manning the homestead,” Faith answered casually.

“Good,” she said with a nod and a wink. “I’m outta egg whites and that boy is a picky eater.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Gimme an omelet with everything you got, hash browns, toast and a short stack.”

“Ditto,” Faith said, setting down the menu.

Mary-Lou looked her over. “You sure, sweetheart? My servings ain’t small.”

Dean chuckled. “I bet you a slice of pie she finishes before I do.”

Cocking her head, Mary-Lou scoffed as she turned to hit the kitchen.

“I’m not having an eating contest, Ducky.”

“Me neither.” He sniggered. “I’ve just watched you inhale breakfast.” He lowered his voice and winked. “Plus I know you worked up quite the appetite.”

She didn’t argue as she smugly picked up her coffee mug and took a sip. “Touché, Ducky, touché.”

It was nice being able to sit and eat and chat and play footsie and pretend like they were a normal couple. Except it struck him halfway through they weren’t pretending—well, _normal,_ was relative—they were in fact officially doing the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. And boyfriends did take their girlfriends out to eat.

“We’re on a date,” he blurted out.

She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly. “How does that relate to _Die Hard_ being your favorite Christmas movie?”

He blinked_. Yeah, that was a smooth move, Winchester._ He gave her a nervous chuckle. “You know…yippee ki yay?”

She forked a chunk of omelet. “Is this actually our first?” She took a bite and looked at him.

He thought about it. “Yeah, I think so.”

After she swallowed, she sipped her coffee. “I think we keep screwing up the order we’re supposed to do these things. Date was supposed to be before the sex and relationship started, right?”

He shrugged. “We’re nonconformists?”

“Yes!” she agreed, waving her fork in the air. “Fuck the patriarchy, Ducky. Except the part where I make you pay because a girl’s gotta have double standards.”

He laughed more around her than he had in forever. It felt good—every one seemed to erase a little dark shadow that had overtaken his life—the world grew brighter every time she smiled or laughed or just gave him a look like she gave a damn.

_“You’re what keeps me around.”_

He was falling for her—truthfully he’d already fallen—and the thought should scare the piss out of him. There was no way this story between them would have a happy ending. If it wasn’t Lucifer or the Hellmouth that took her away, she’d find a good man or a lost love. Something or someone would ruin it all—knowing himself, he could be a prime suspect.

He’d survived losing Lisa and Ben years ago. It’d nearly killed him to realize they would never be able to be part of his true life. But Faith? Fuck, she was more in it than he was. On the surface, it looked like a perfect match—they lived and died and fought the same demons. The chemistry was off the fucking charts. They _liked_ each other. Not just because the sexual attraction but because they liked the small things—her voice, her smile, her eyes, her smell, her taste, her wit, her intelligence, her passion, her hair, her…everything.

Yeah, he’d survived the whole broken heart thing before. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to this time.

*~*~*

Sam hated leaving Dawn asleep in the bed, but he knew that like the sun, he had a job to do. He softly brushed his lips to her temple before slipping out of bed and getting dressed.

They had a very long night after Buffy had left. Dawn had had a lot of emotions to process through—she admitted her still-unprocessed grief over the loss of her mom was playing a role in her animosity toward Faith. She was also reeling from all the memories Willow had unlocked concerning some god named Glory and a load of bad that had happened over in England.

As someone who had experienced the loss of a parent and memory altercations, he couldn’t help but see her point of view. Maybe she had been a bit too catty with Faith, but she wasn’t doing it just for spite. And while Faith had sacrificed herself for Rosalie, how much had she changed? She’d literally banged two guys on the night she’d come back to life.

Him and Dean were fighting a fight before Faith came back into the picture. His brother had been on a slow and steady boil ever since LA. Sam has known it was only a matter of time. Instead of talking to Dean, he’d ignored it and waited for it to explode. He wasn’t exactly proud of the fact he’d put his big brother so far down the priority list, but with Rosalie and his new Watcher title—not to mention Dawn and a new host of close friends—he could only focus on so much at a time.

Sam highly doubted Rosalie would be up and itching for a morning jog, but he dressed for it all the same. Maybe he would slip out and go for a run to clear his head. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready to go back to hitting the books just yet.

He’d rounded the corner to the kitchen when he heard the voice he least expected. “Why don’t you hide the pie and see if the girls want my apology burritos?”

“Kinda thinking everyone pulled an all-nighter. Seem a little extra quiet this morning.”

“No rest for the wicked.” Sam couldn’t hear, but it sounded like Dean and Faith shared a kiss. “Hide my pie.”

“Technically it’s _my_ pie, considering I won you the bet.”

“I will cut you.” A pause. “Shut up and I’ll share.”

“Deal.” More kissing.

Sam coughed and cleared his throat before officially walking into the kitchen. Dean and Faith gave him matching deer-in-the-headlights stares.

“Welcome back.” He struggled to keep his tone light and casual. At least Buffy had warned him.

Dean grunted and gave Faith a glance and a nod before turning to start fumbling with the coffee pot. Faith gave Sam an awkward look and held up a paper sack. “Errands.” She gave him a wide berth as she walked past him and out the room.

He stood there, watching his big brother go through all the steps to make a fresh pot of coffee, but didn’t talk until he turned it on and was left waiting for the machine to heat up and start percolating.

“You came back,” he said into the silence.

Dean once again just grunted before turning to grab a couple mugs from the cabinet. Sam tried to start the conversation once more. “Buffy has mentioned it when she came and told me about how the plan with the slayers had all been her idea.”

Sam wasn’t sure why the cold shoulder treatment was getting to him. It wasn’t like he and Dean hadn’t literally beaten each other until they were bloody and broken the night before—it had possibly been the worst physical fight they’d ever had. “So, you said burritos and pie. Did you stop in to Mary-Lou’s for breakfast?”

“Just stop,” Dean said in a low gruff. He turned around slowly to glare at him, his green eyes doing little to hide his contempt.

“Look, I was just trying—”

“Well, don’t.” Dean’s jaw tightened and he could see the muscles twitch. After a few breaths, he spoke. “We get past Lucifer and the Hellmouth and we can sort out the details.” He turned to the pot and started pouring while the liquid was still dripping down, sizzling on the burner plate.

“What details?” Sam thought they had a lot more to discuss than semantics.

Dean grabbed both mugs, one handle in each hand, and started walking out.

“Dean?”

He slowed his stride. “Figure this is Men of Letters property and therefore Watchers Council turf. Ro will have you, Nick, Giles and Mom. Buffy and Spike may stick around a bit longer, but I highly doubt they’re gonna sit around until the kid’s old and gray just babysitting.”

He didn’t mention Dawn, which didn’t come as a big shock. “And you?”

Dean shrugged and walked into the hallway. He must have sensed Sam behind him because he kept talking. “Figure it’d be best to go where I’m needed. Go back on the road hunting or settle somewhere else. Depends on how this all shakes out.”

“You’re leaving?” Sam scoffed. “The guy who fought me my whole life about sticking together is gonna just, what? Walk away.”

Dean whirled around so fast a bit of coffee splash on his hand. He hissed and then looked up with an angry stare. “Don’t play like the victim here. You damn well know what this place has meant to me.”

“And me?” he challenged. “You know you haven’t exactly been there for me these last few months. This hasn’t been exactly easy.”

“Wouldn’t know, now would I?” he fired back. “You seemed pretty good at making the decisions and leading the way all on your own. I’m just the _fuckup_ big brother, Sammy. That’s what you and Dawn and the Council decided.” He turned and started walking away.

“Dean,” Sam said and sighed. “What Dawn said—”

“Was true. But at least she had the balls to say it to my face.”

“So you’re cool with just walking away from me and Mom and Cas and the bunker just like nothing?”

He stopped again, but didn’t turn around. “Things aren’t the same. They’ll never be the same again. You chose this, not me.” He paused. “Not that I wouldn’t have chosen any or all of it, but we don’t know because you never asked. Not about one fucking thing.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Now it’s my turn. I don’t need your permission to leave and I don’t need your agreement on my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Holy shit. How had Faith blindsided him so fast?

“I swear to God if you say one thing—even mention her name—I will break your fucking nose again right now.”

“Fine,” he reluctantly conceded. “You’re right. We both got a lot more than the old days. So what do we do now?”

Dean started walking once more. “Fay and I are gonna start hitting the hunter journals. Start combing through some of the less conventional sources for a possible clue. I already looked through Dad’s on the ride back, but didn’t find shit.”

Ride? If he wasn’t driving that meant… Was his brother under some kind of love spell? He was going to ask Hermione and Harry about it later.

They were just about to enter the main room as Dean was obviously heading to the library when they heard their names mentioned.

“Sam and Dean have enough going on right now without adding anymore for them to deal with.”

_Mom?_

Dean stopped and threw a surprised look over his shoulder. Sam edged up so they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder just out of eyesight.

“Mary, I understand. Everything with Lucifer, the Hellmouth and their apparent feuding romantic partners has put a strain on their relationship. This has been difficult for us all.”

Dean looked at him and mouthed the word, “Giles.” Sam nodded.

“Not to mention the wonderful revelation that John had a daughter with a witch. A witch that somehow is involved in this whole mess. If that didn’t bring them together, I highly doubt this will.”

Sabrina. Sam felt bad about how little thought he’d given his sister in all that had been going on. Truthfully, it didn’t really seem real—not in a tangible way like everything else going on at the moment. Maybe meeting her would change that. He hoped that could be after the Hellmouth was locked down. That really had to be their top priority—keeping _all_ the slayers, both his and Dean’s, from having to sacrifice themselves to close it.

“It would give them a chance to unite under a common enemy,” Giles said. “Possibly help them put aside their squabbles and—”

“And what?” Mary snorted. “They beat the shit out of each other. You want them to _kill_ you? Nice try, honey, but you failed to convince me.”

Sam and Dean shared a look of confusion. Why would they be mad at Giles about anything?

“We discussed this when we made the decision, love,” Giles said in exasperation. “The fact that neither one of us are getting any younger. Truth is we don’t know what is going to happen next. I think my daughters and your sons should know.”

“I want to, Rupert, I really do. I just don’t think _now_ is the time. Dawn and Faith have been distraction enough. If we can get Dean back here, do you really think the first thing we should do is tell him we’re getting married?”

Dean and Sam exchanged an identical look of slack-jawed shock, their eyes wide and filled with a childlike disbelief—like they’d just heard that Santa Claus wasn’t real. They looked at each other in a silent plead for the other one to somehow fix it.

“Would you at least start wearing the bloody ring? I’m not ashamed to say it cost a small fortune. If one or both of us doesn’t make it through this, I’d at least like to think I got my money’s worth.”

“Ring?” the boys mouthed in unison.

“You don’t think someone will notice that big ole rock on my finger?” Mary teased. “And never tell me what you spent because I’m likely to slap you for it.”

“Mary.” Sam could almost imagine the man removing his glasses to polish—it seemed to be a nervous tick for Giles. “I meant what I said. If anything should happen to one or both—”

“No. We agreed we weren’t letting that influence this, Rupert. I love you and you love me. We both have had some serious heartbreak—not just Ketch or Melody. You lost Jenny and John and I were moving closer to divorce before I died.”

Sam and Dean shared a look of horror. That did _not_ sound anything like Dad had described their marriage.

“They have this fantasy about how things were. Sabrina and Adam were big shocks to them, but not to me. John and I had already separated three times before I died.”

“I know,” Giles said softly. “He assumed you were having an affair when you began hunting again.”

Yeah, the bombshells kept on dropping. Sam shook his head as Dean looked like he was on the verge of saying something aloud.

“Exactly. I think Dean blocked most of the bad out. John would get so mad—call him Momma’s Boy—because he always chose me to run to or have him tuck him in at night.” Her voice grew thicker with emotion. “We separated for two months just before I got pregnant with Sam. Dean caught me in my room with a bottle of wine having a pity party. He came in and asked why I was crying and I told him it was just a bad dream and go back to sleep.” She gave a watery laugh. “He told me not to worry and then he tucked me into bed and sang me ‘Hey Jude’ and snuggled up next to me.”

“He’s a good man,” Giles said softly. “I would personally argue he got that from his mother. She too goes out of her way to protect the ones she loves.”

Sam wondered briefly if Dean remembered what his mom had said. He watched as the memory replayed in his little four year old mind. When he saw the tear roll down his cheek, Sam knew he had unlocked the moment. It was just like the time when they’d seen the memory of his mom and dad arguing on the phone before Dean had run up to hug and comfort her—little repressed pieces of Dean’s childhood. Little painful reminders that Dean had grown up and started taking care of people way before he’d ever gotten a chance to be a child.

Just when he was at his wit’s end with his brother, that point always came back to hit him in his chest. Dean was _always_ there, sacrificing his life and his happiness to protect him. He didn’t always do the right thing—oftentimes it was the opposite—but he had never made a choice that hadn’t been what he thought wasn’t best for someone else. Even last night had been some perverse notion of protecting Faith.

Giles was right. Dean was a good man. Dean’s biggest problem was he never believed it himself.

Sam reached his breaking point when he saw Faith walk up and give Dean a quiet look of concern before giving him the stink eye—like he’d been the one to make him cry. They had heard enough anyway. Anymore and Sam might start tearing up as well. With a loud cough, he gave his brother a small pat on the shoulder and then walked into the room.

“Sam!” Mary exclaimed, unable to hide a hint of guiltiness from her voice. “Didn’t know you were up this early.”

“Yeah.” His cheeks heated slightly with his own guilt at eavesdropping. “Dean and Faith made it back and Buffy and I talked to Dawn. We figure we can all put things aside to take care of business.”

“Good,” Giles said with a nod and a small smile. “I know Dawn has been out of line, but I assume everything with Willow and the altered memories is playing a greater role than she suspects. Her mother’s death was a terrible memory for Willow to erase. Joyce and her daughters deserved better than that.”

“Actually, Dawn and I talked about that last night.” He really hoped Dean and Faith were listening. “I think a lot of her anger is toward Willow. And grief.”

“There’s too much here for any of us to handle,” Mary said softly. “I’m glad you finally bucked up. She’d been crushing on you for weeks. You two seem to be good for each other.”

“Thanks,” he said, now fully embarrassed. He didn’t really need the reminder that his mom knew he’d started sleeping with a girl after he’d pulled the whole panty fiasco.

Dean cleared his throat and strolled in, Faith at his heels with one of the cups of coffee he had poured earlier. “Mornin’,” he said casually as he seemed to be making a move to skip the conversation and head straight to the library.

“Dean!” Mary jumped over and hugged him before he could escape. “How you doing?” She looked over his shoulder to look at Faith.

“Peachy,” he answered, embracing his mom with one arm while holding the coffee out to keep from spilling. “Just cracking the books early to make up for skipping out on study group lately.”

“Really?” Giles sounded impressed and slightly bewildered. “Well that is…productive.”

“Yeah, don’t get too thick with the compliments, G,” Faith drawled. “Wouldn’t want me and D getting our hearts all a flutter with the praise.”

Dean kissed Mom’s temple and let her go. “Yeah, I got me a piece of pie motivating me to get this shit done and solved by lunch.” He started on toward the library.

“What pie?” Faith teased as she came up beside him. “I don’t know about any pie.”

“The pie I told you to—” He broke off with a groan. “You hid it from _me_,” he whined. “That’s grounds for legal separation.”

“Pretty sure none of that meant what you think it does. But if you are a good boy and do your homework, I might give you a clue.”

Sam didn’t quite get it. The version of Faith with Dean didn’t match up with anything he’d heard about the woman. And Dean with Faith was nothing like his brother—at least the brother who had sold his soul, gone to Hell and Purgatory, bore the Mark of Cain and become a demon. This Dean was like looking back at the guy who had come to Stanford and told him Dad was on a hunting trip and hadn’t been heard from in a few days.

It had to be a spell because Sam couldn’t figure out any other logical explanation.

*~*~*

Dean was feeling pretty good as the morning worn on. While they hadn’t found anything, it was cathartic to be doing some _productive _for the first time in a while. Having Faith next to him, occasionally slipping a hand under the table to give him a little squeeze on the knee whenever he gave up and tossed another useless journal aside, kinda helped take the edge off.

That was his focus today: Faith and finding an answer. Okay, that piece of pie and the fact that Kelly had announced they were having roast for dinner got his motor running too. But not the other shit—stuff with Mom or Sam or Sabrina. Nope, he was using his brainpower on research and his three favorite Fs—Faith, food, and fucking her after she gave him his pie. Or before. Or during. But first was the research.

Skimming the page in front of him, his eye caught an interesting tidbit. “Hey,” he said loudly as he read it one more. “We got anything by a Maurice Davies? This one here calls him an architect that designed some of these Men of Letters’ bunkers.”

“On it,” Nick said hopping up to go looking at the shelf.

Dean kept reading as Faith leaned over. He scooted the book over where she could get a look. He was coming up with nothing other than a passing mention. He flipped the page and scanned for any keywords. Frustrated, he flipped again and felt Faith lay a hand on his thigh as his nostrils had started to flare. He covered it with his palm and took a breath to calm himself. Finding something that led to a possible dead-end was almost worse than nothing at all. The false hope just broke the concentration.

“I see nothing,” Nick said after a few minutes. Rosalie and Cordy has gotten up to help in the search.

“Well, that was great for about two minutes,” Zack Morris drawled.

“You know there’s a chance he has journals at one of the other locations,” Sam said slowly. “Did you guys check out any of the books?”

“Sorry,” Spike grumbled. “That was third on my list behind finding the fake blood and not burning to death. I guess I should go flog myself now.”

“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “I know there was shit there, but we’d just started gathering up weapons after the search went bust. Can’t say there was time to go all _Reading Rainbow_.”

“Does this mean another road trip?” Rosalie asked. “And can I at least get to go this time?”

“_NO!_” the room all said in unison.

“I fucking hate you all sometimes,” she pouted under her breath.

“We got a support group, kiddo,” Faith teased. “Nicky’s testimonial last meeting nearly moved us to tears. I think even your old man was up in his feels, weren’t you, Wright?”

He gave Faith an eye roll and a smirk. “All up in my feels? Not even sure I got enough feels to get all up in.” He looked to Rosalie. “But emphasis on the part where we all are unanimous your ass in staying in here.”

“There’s no point,” she countered. “They have the blood so I’m off the hook.”

“Yeah, well, truth of the shit is the slayers aren’t off any hook until this thing is locked up tight.”

“He makes a fair point,” Hermione said. “In even of the worst case scenario, if they break in and open the Hellmouth…”

“Goddammit!” Faith bellowed in angry realization. “Now we have to stay here to close the fucking thing!” She looked over to Buffy. “Can we at least do it in shifts? Sex can only entertain a slayer so long before she’s got to go out and _slay_ something.”

“Really?” Dean asked in exasperation. “I’m not _entertaining_?” Truth was he was more bemused than upset.

“She’s right,” Buffy agreed.

“Watch it, Slayer,” Spike said in a low, thick voice.

Buffy flashed him a smile before turning back to Dean. “Even sparring around with my hubby doesn’t quite make up for the part of the slayer DNA that calls for regular slayage of baddies. Last night might help with the withdrawals, but we are all jonesing for fix. The shift thing works for me.”

“Me too,” Rosalie agreed.

As much as she’d like to leave her out, Dean knew that Faith understood Ro had been on a tighter leash than necessary. She might be the youngest slayer, but she was the active Slayer. They were lucky her ass hadn’t busted out already. She nodded.

“Awesome. We can make out a schedule later.”

“Excuse me,” Nick said. “I missed the part where we all discuss this and decide.”

“You’re excused,” Faith quipped. She looked at Dean and saw his mouth opening to speak. “Pie.”

Dammit. He shut his trap. Truth was he knew fighting was a lost battle.

“Pretty sure the three people who matter worked it out.” Buffy flashed Spike an apologetic smile. “My body, my choice.”

Faith snorted. “Yeah, Nicky. It’s either this or give your girl another pregnancy scare.”

Dean slapped a hand over his mouth to cover up the laughter convulsing his body. Wright had started choking in a coughing fit. It wasn’t until Zack and Spike broke until loud giggles that Dean uncovered his mouth and joined in.

It was perfect little Hallmark moment watching Wright having a little midlife crisis before their eyes. Everyone had stopped and were joining in the amusement as the guy caught his breath and began looking from his daughter to her potential baby daddy and back and forth. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing happened. He looked like a broken toy. Finally, he broke the mind loop and looked to Cordy. “I got nothing.”

She gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. Even Wright was beginning to smile after everybody took a giant step back from the drama to enjoy the little things—the situation was the most fucking normal thing that had happened in forever.

A burst of light flashed across the room and the laughter died immediately. Chairs scraped loudly across the wooden floor as nearly everyone had jumped to their feet at once.

“What the hell?” Buffy spoke first.

“A ghost?” Kelly asked hopefully.

The light expanded and an animal form took shape.

“A ghost moose?” Xander asked enthusiastically.

“A Patronus?” Dean asked with the giddiness of kid on Christmas morning. He clasped his hands in excitement as it pointed directly to Hermione. “Fucking _awesome_!”

Faith snickered, but met his palm when he raised her a high-five, eyes focused on the white light.

_“Hermione,”_ the Patronus spoke in a feminine voice. _“I’m so sorry I haven’t contacted you in the past day or so. Truth is we’ve been focusing on ensuring we haven’t been followed or traced. This is much more frustrating than I had anticipated. I had always thought cars were pretty cool. That was until I had to be stuck in one—for days—like a slow, never-ending torture on the road to Hell. I mean, honestly, how people don’t just slit their fucking throats after spending hours on a road with either static or Christian music is beyond the scope of my imagination. Would it kill NoMajes to invent a damn radio that allowed you to listen to a little Zeppelin or Petty or anything good?”_

_“Sabrina,” _a familiar British voice said. _“The point, dear.”_

Dean’s heart jumped to his throat. His eyes darted and found Sammy looking at him with a similar look of emotion. This was their sister.

_“Come on!” _she whispered. _“Did you guys even try?”_

_“Sirius Radio? You never heard of it?”_

_“I, uhh, kinda just thought that was Harry Potter podcasts or something.”_

Wes’s chuckle filled the room. _“Of course.” _A pause. _“Tell her your concern.”_

_“Right. So, I know enough pieces to figure out a big chunk of this puzzle. And if I can, I’m worried that someone else could, too.” _She sighed. _“Rosalie Wright and her watcher disappeared right around the time Wolfram and Hart triggered their attack. Shortly thereafter, several others went unaccounted for, including Buffy Summers and her mate. Then…then Dean and Sam left to presumably go home. A home MACUSA has listed in Kansas.” _She released a shaky breath. _“I overheard the discussion with Wright about getting a jet into Wichita. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the slayers are with my… They’re with Dean and Sam.”_

Dean whimpered just slightly. A little part of him already loved her. Truth be told, he’d always wanted a sister. Faith leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, breaking PDA protocol. He took the opportunity and threaded his fingers in her hand.

_“I’m concerned that MACUSA, and therefore Wolfram and Hart, could figure this out. I’m fucking useless now—we’re trapped in a boring box of Christian Hell slowly driving through total desolation.”_

_“This is Utah, love,”_ Wes whispered.

_“Why am I not surprised?” _she quipped._ “Anyway, you might try and contact Percy. And remain vigilant. Wesley and I have been looking through the MACUSA records. We found a few mentions of the Sunnydale hellmouth, but nothing at all on Kansas. Same with Lucifer. We’ll keep looking. In meantime, I really hope everything’s okay. Bye.”_

On the last word, that Patronus vanished into thin air.

“Okay,” Nick said after a second. “I read the books—before and after meeting you lot—and it never said it was an actual voicemail recording.”

Hermione gave a beaming grin. “I worked for years to modify Dumbledore’s original charm. This was a way, Ron and I could send messages from the children back and forth if one was away on business. We’ve only shared it with the immediate family. It risks too much chance of illegally spying on an unassuming party.”

Dean heard what she was saying and was trying to fucking focus because it was Patronuses and he’d always wondered what his would be, but he couldn’t. All he could think about was he had a sister out there who was currently running around with the fucker who had killed his girlfriend.

“I need a beer.”


	60. Chapter 60

Dinner had been a quick affair, mostly because Rosalie had been keen to get out and patrol, and no one could blame her. Dean had offered to chaperone, which Buffy took to mean he’d needed an excuse to get out or was still processing hearing his sister’s voice for the first time. Nick and Dawn were at the bar, as per usual, as were Wright, Cordelia, Xander and Anya. Left without much else to do, Spike, Zack, and Kelly had gone to investigate the Hellmouth itself to see if there might have been something leftover that they hadn’t noticed before.

Buffy was in the kitchen, making a drink. A bloodtini, as Spike called them. Really just vodka and O-pos. She wasn’t a heavy drinker, but some days, it really hit the spot.

“Hello, lovely.”

It was always disconcerting when someone got the drop on her, namely because as a vampire, she could hear them coming from a mile off. Or smell them. Or…something. But it was quite possible the King of Hell didn’t qualify as normal. Not that she’d spent a ton of time with him—aside from the fight and when he’d dropped by to offer some insight on the final ingredient to opening the Hellmouth.

But Buffy did her best to remain calm as she turned to face him in the dark kitchen. “Hello, creeper.”

Crowley just grinned at her, his hands in his pockets. “Just the vamp I was hoping to see.”

“I’ll say it again—creeper. What are you doing here, anyway?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Moose had a few questions about the Hellmouth that I, unfortunately, could not provide. Seems you have really bungled this, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s just eating you up.”

“I understand they are searching for alternative means to close it.” He eyed the drink she’d made herself. “Which is curious because the answer is right here. Slayer blood ought to do in a pinch.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, her fangs itching to drop. “We talked and decided that martyrdom is passé. But thanks.”

“Darling, who said anything about martyrs?” Crowley took a step forward, nodding to the glass. “Drink up. Wouldn’t want you to put any of that exquisite strength to waste.”

“I know you’re the King of Hell and everything, but if you keep being creepy, I am going to have to hit you.”

He grinned. “You are quite refreshing, Buffy. Much better for him than the poor confused twat he was mooning over when I knew him. Though I do believe you’ve domesticated William a bit too much. Wasn’t so long ago he’d see the obvious answer, too.”

“I’m sure you have a point.”

“I do.” Crowley helped himself to the commercial-sized refrigerator like he owned the place, snagged a carton of OJ, then scooped up the bottle of vodka Buffy had used to make her drink.

“Hell is an inhospitable place,” he said once he was on the other side of the island once more. He grabbed one of the glasses stored there with the plates. “Much like a freezer. Humans can survive there for a bit, but ultimately, their fragile little bodies succumb to the elements and it’s nighty night for good.” He poured himself a helping of orange juice, then slid it across the island. “You put that in a freezer. What does it do?”

Buffy looked from him to the glass and back again. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making a point, since you were so adamant that I get to one.” He winked, then nodded at the glass. “That there, my dear, is what you were before. Extra-powered human, yes, but human all the same. Throw that in a freezer and you would almost certainly die. But…” He held up the vodka and motioned to the glass, which slid back across the island on its own. “Add enough good stuff…” He poured in a healthy amount of alcohol. “And you stand a much, much better chance at remaining liquid, not solid.”

“Are you calling me a screwdriver?”

“The comparison is apt.” Crowley winked again and took a swallow of the drink he’d made. “Hell was not made for humans, darling. But you aren’t human, are you? You have inside you a thing that knows Hell very, very well. Your demon isn’t like other demons, but it _is _a demon. And what has a better chance of withstanding Hell than something born there?”

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, fighting the urge to breathe because she knew if she started, she’d pant and give herself away. On a surface level, she understood what Crowley was saying, and it made a twisted sort of sense. Of course, there was the whole debacle of how to get _out _of Hell once she’d jumped inside it, but being alive would certainly be a boon in the right direction.

“I could survive,” she said at last.

“I believe so, yes.” Crowley dropped his gaze to her hand and nodded at it. There was a gleam in his eye there that she didn’t like, and it made her glad for the Permanent Sticking Charm that Hermione had placed on all four rings. “It would hurt, mind. Falling into Hell will never be easy. But that ring of yours would work with your demon to keep you alive. You would need to _bleed_, understand, for the Hellmouth to close, and you would quite a bit. I believe your ring would save your life in the fall. Your demon would be what kept you alive once you land.”

“And I could get back?”

Crowley inclined his head. “Yes, you could. Get back.”

“How?”

“Find the right demon and they could bring you back in a snap.”

“The right demon being someone who knows me, presumably.”

“That would be my suggestion.”

Buffy fell quiet again, lifting the glass of blood to her lips. Something she was too hesitant to call relief began to warm her insides, because on the whole, this was the perfect solution. Keep looking for others, sure, but if it came down to it, no one would have to lose anything. They could stop worrying about who was sacrificing what and start gearing up for the fight with Lucifer that was sure to come.

There was no guarantee, of course. Crowley wasn’t saying that. He was just telling her what was obvious—what should have been obvious to her, too. And what was hopefully not obvious to Lucifer and never would be. The trouble he’d gone to in order to open the Hellmouth would be undone in a blink and his resources exhausted. Sure, slayer blood was still around, but the salt? Gone. There wouldn’t be a do-over.

“Why help us?” Buffy blurted before she could tell herself not to.

Crowley looked insulted by the question. “Have I not been clear? I helped last night because I do not wish the Hellmouth to open. Now that it seems inevitable, it’s in my best interest to keep Lucifer from getting what he wants.”

“Sorry. Why help _me_? If it opened right now, Faith and I would do a mad-dash to see who gets there first. One of us would stop it regardless.”

“Ah.” Crowley turned his gaze to the ground. “I have gone soft in my old age, particularly where…certain people are concerned.”

“Not Spike.”

He barked a laugh. “No. Apologies, but most certainly not.”

“Then Dean.” Buffy swallowed. “You don’t want it to be Faith because Dean’s in love with her.”

“Is he now?” He tilted his head. “I didn’t realize things were so serious. That’s…interesting. Either way, it seemed prudent to share my knowledge with she who is in the best place to do something about it. For the reason I gave.”

“And you can bring me back. If it opens and I jump, you can bring me back.”

Crowley gave another solemn nod. “I can.”

Buffy nodded, took another sip of blood. “Thanks for the info.”

“Anytime, my dear. Let’s just hope the need to make use out of it never arises.”

“But it will.” Of that she was certain.

“Yes. And sooner rather than later, I daresay.”

*~*~*

After pot roast, during which he’d kept mostly silent, Dean had volunteered to be Rosalie’s patrol buddy. The littlest slayer hadn’t loved the idea of having a patrol buddy, but she seemed to understand that she wouldn’t win that fight. And Dean was less likely to crowd her than Sam or her father, so she’d agreed.

This left Faith to her own devices. There was more reading to do, but she honestly didn’t think her brain could take more of it at the moment. And she didn’t much want to be with Sam without Dean as a buffer, so she’d motored back to their room to decompress.

Dean had stopped in to make sure she was okay before he left. The truth was she wasn’t sure, but she hadn’t wanted to keep him here when she’d sensed he needed space. So she’d shrugged and played it cool and done her best not to swoon like a fucking schoolgirl when he kissed her goodbye. Because Faith fucking Lehane didn’t swoon.

And Dean _had_ needed some space after the Patronus arrived. It was kind of freaky how she knew that, but she did. At least she thought she did. There were times when he stalked off that she felt, deep down, he needed someone to follow him, even if he didn’t want it. Then there were times when he needed time to himself. This had felt like the latter. Or maybe that was wishful thinking, because Faith wasn’t sure she’d be good company.

It was one thing knowing the guy who had claimed to have feelings for you was up and in another relationship barely two months after getting your ass killed. It was another thing to fucking hear it.

The funny thing was, all of the shit with Wes seemed way in the past rather than the blip of time that had actually gone by. Even less time for her, considering the two-month hiatus she’d taken while dead had felt more like a few hours at the most. The past week or so with Dean seemed like it had taken place immediately after the cemetery, which she guessed made her the pot to Wes’s kettle. Except the thing with Dean was, well, real in a way the thing with Wes hadn’t been. She hadn’t known it at the time, granted, but maybe that was why she’d resisted so hard when shit had gotten serious. Being with Wes had scared the fuck out of her—hell, being with Dean did too, but her reaction to the latter was to run to him. That had never been the instinct with Wes.

The truth was something simpler than that. Wes might not have been a guy she could love, but he’d been the one who had shown her that it was possible. Made her believe that something like love wasn’t just for special slayers like Buffy and Ro. Even Faith could have it.

Hell, maybe she did.

Faith swallowed and eyed the duffle that Dean had hastily packed last night, then thought of what he’d said before he’d blown her fucking world simply by assuming she’d meant for them both to get out of Dodge. He’d said some shit about the room—shelving her crap and making whatever changes she wanted to make in order to feel some ownership of the space. Well, might as fucking well. She had to stop living out of Walmart bags at some point.

She pulled out the stuff she’d accumulated since being tossed back to earth. There wasn’t much—a few things from that first trip to the Dollar General, the business-casual shit Dean had insisted on when they’d first played dress-up, and the yellow dress she’d worn the day Willow had launched her through the travel bus. Then there was the box of her stuff Ro had left outside the bedroom door—her real stuff from home.

She needed to assess the closet and dresser situation, see what needed to be rearranged to accommodate her shit. And yeah, part of her worried Dean might freak out and reneg the second he saw she’d actually nested, but that part wasn’t as loud as it had been a few days ago. Dean looking over-the-moon when he’d realized earlier that they’d been on a date was powerful enough to quell the voice that kept whispering she didn’t deserve this kind of shit.

Faith was in the middle of restructuring the underwear drawer when the knock came. She froze and looked to the door. “B?” Pretty much the only person left in the joint she’d be cool chatting with.

“It’s Sam.”

Fuck.

“Dean ain’t here,” she said, refolding a pair of boxers. “He and the kid must be tearin’ it up.”

The sound of retreating footsteps did not answer this proclamation. Instead, she heard the door creak open, and then Sam’s voice wasn’t so muffled.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

Oh. Goody.

Given the tentative truce, tossing the younger Winchester out on his ass likely wasn’t the best way to make nice. “’Kay,” she said, not bothering to look at him. Rather, she kept her gaze focused on the task at hand.

“I… What are you doing?”

“Wrestling alligators,” Faith replied without looking at him. “Easier than it looks.” When she didn’t get a response, she rolled her eyes and forced her head up, and tried not to laugh at the befuddled look on his face. “What?”

“You’re…moving your stuff in here?”

She snorted. “No, I’m finally putting my shit up. My stuff’s been in here pretty much since Day One. Think big bro got tired of tripping over it on the way to the john. Told me last night to hang it up already.”

“Wow.” Sam huffed a little laugh, but the sound made it clear he found the situation far from funny. “Dawn still has her own room. Granted, she hasn’t slept in it much the past few days, but it’s… Well, it’s there.”

“Yeah, well, I missed that particular welcome wagon,” Faith replied, plucking a pair of her panties off the bed and folding them. “Tried to move my shit out a time or two, but it always ends up back in here, so why fucking bother.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just watched as she folded her delicates and placed them in Dean’s—in _their_ dresser.

“Sammy, not that I don’t like being gawked at like a zoo exhibit, but you said you had something you wanted to talk about.”

He gave his head a shake. “Right, yes. Umm… Well, it was a question, actually.”

She just bet it was. “Uh huh?”

“I talked to Harry and Hermione at dinner. About, well, the different kind of spells and stuff in their world.”

“The spell they used on me, B, and Ro last night was legit shit. Might not be a bad idea to use it on others here before Lucifer and Red make their move. Way it works is cool too. If you weren’t a friend, you couldn’t touch us.” Faith favored him with a saccharine smile. “How you got close enough to give me that love tap last night and Lucifer didn’t. You were on Team Friend.”

Sam at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed by this, but he didn’t apologize. This much both pissed her off and made her respect him—at least he wasn’t here to blow smoke up her ass.

“That’s…good to know. But that’s actually not the kind of spell I meant.”

Faith started in on her bras. “Well, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Do you know how to make Amortentia?”

“Bless you.”

“Huh?”

“What, that wasn’t a sneeze?”

“It’s a love potion,” Sam said hurriedly. “It…causes a strong sense of infatuation or obsession with the drinker. They can get violent if the object of their affection is…well, threatened or challenged in any way.”

Faith froze as Sam’s real question became clear. Then she tipped her head back and let the bra she was holding fall to the ground. “Are you fucking shitting me?”

“What?”

“Don’t _what _me.” She turned to face him. “No, Sammy. Go on. Be a fucking man and ask what you really came here to ask.”

Sam swallowed but didn’t look away or blink. “Did you put my brother under a love spell?”

“A Harry Potter love spell?”

“Or _any _love spell?”

Faith thought for a moment she might actually attack the fucker. “You got a lot of fucking nerve.”

“And you haven’t answered the question.”

“So Dean’s under a love spell. This is your new theory. Can’t just be that we fucking like each other, can it? Nooooo, Faith the fuck-up slipped your brother a magical roofie.” She shook her head, trembling with rage that needed an outlet. Fuck.

“He let you drive Baby,” Sam blurted as though this was the smoking gun. “And…offered to share pie. He called you his _girlfriend _earlier to me. This… It’s not Dean.” He brought his hands up. “And you’re right—I shouldn’t have suggested… But could it be a spell someone else put on _both _of you? From everything Rose and Nick have told me, you’re not the”—he waved vaguely at the dresser—“girlfriend type.”

“Uh huh. What kind of love spell do you think would have your brother chucking a bottle of Crown at my head?”

Sam blinked. “Huh?”

“Yeah. That happened a couple of days ago. He was pissed at your dad and needed to hit something. I told him to hit me. He tried to with a bottle. Smashed it right around where you’re standing.” Faith crossed her arms. “Unless the caster is Ike fucking Turner, that don’t sound like a love spell to me.”

“He…tried to hurt you?”

“Don’t say it like that. I told him to. Like I said, he was gonna blow and he needed to. I’m a big girl and I can handle it. Which is exactly what I told him, by the way.” Faith barked a laugh. “Not sayin’ it makes sense to me either, Sammy, but fuck me sideways, your brother and I did the whole fucking dance. We hooked up that first night and it was better than we expected, so we hooked up a couple more times. That night at Rosa Lee’s when you were less of an ass and actually cut loose on the dance floor? He got pissy and I got pissy and I came back in here to take my shit and leave—try number one, if memory serves—and we had it out. Next day we both decided to blow this joint ’cause the other was crowdin’ us too fucking much and ended up in the same goddamn town on the same goddamn case by complete goddamn accident. Yelled it out some more, then decided we were better off just fucking until the novelty wore off because yellin’ was doin’ exactly jack.” She shrugged. “Thing was, after that, it was… I dunno, something neither of us expected. We kinda realized we were an actual couple by accident. So please, tell me how that fits the whole love spell story you got goin’ on there, ’cause I gotta tell you, if that’s a fucking love spell, it’s the most fucked up love spell any twisted fucker has ever come up with. But hey, if it makes you feel better, get the wizards to give me more of that truth serum. I am an open fucking book. Might not like every chapter, but I got exactly jack shit to hide. So fucking try me.”

To her immense pleasure, this much seemed to have stolen whatever argument Sam might have had left. He just stood there, blinking at her like a moron. Then, without saying a word, he turned and walked back out, leaving her alone again.

For a few minutes, Faith tried to refocus on unpacking her shit, but her hands were shaking too damn hard and she couldn’t focus. She began to fear she might actually break the goddamn dresser and, while she doubted Dean would mind replacing it, she didn’t exactly want to let him know how badly this conversation had pissed her off when she told him about it later.

Because she would tell him. She had to. He didn’t need to be hearing from Sam later that she’d aired their dirty laundry, and he deserved to know that little brother thought someone had slipped him some happy juice.

And…well, he was just the guy she told her shit to.

After a few minutes, though, she conceded that she needed to do something with this excess energy. She gave up on laundry and tore out of the room toward the training room. Beating up a punching bag wouldn’t feel nearly as good as beating up on a certain smug Winchester right now, but maybe she’d work up enough to cool off by the time Dean got back.

*~*~*

“Where’s the fire, B?” Dean said by way of greeting as he, Wright, and Nick entered the same room where she and the other slayers had practiced the Imperturbable Shield Charm effects not too long ago. “And…what is this?”

Buffy ignored him and looked to Wright. “Spike and the others left, right?”

“Yeah, we passed them on the way out. They’re expecting you soon.” Wright looked about as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him, and she knew why. While he was a great friend of hers, he’d always been Spike’s friend first. The request that Spike be clearly off the premises before they talked would strike him as more than just weird—it’d be unnatural.

Buffy glanced to Sam, who had been the first to answer her text message, being that he hadn’t left the bunker. She’d asked Dean to swing by the cantina and pick up the other two before sending Spike, Zack, and Kelly on their way to enjoy a night out. She was going to stay and exorcise some of her pent-up slayer energy with Faith in the training room, then catch up once Rosalie was back. And she’d actually traded a few punches with Faith after finding her in there to make the story stick if asked.

“The door.” She nodded to Wright. “Can you get it?”

“This is feeling really weird,” Wright muttered but did as he was asked.

“What’s up?” Dean asked again, crossing his arms. “’Cause if your hubby finds us in here, we’re gonna have a lot of explainin’ to do.”

Buffy again looked to Sam. “You asked Crowley here earlier.”

At this, Sam went a bit red and shifted like he’d been caught doing something he ought not. “I, ahh, thought it might be good to see if he had any additional information on how to close the Hellmouth if it opened.” He looked at the others. “He didn’t, for the record. I didn’t realize he stayed around after that.”

“Yeah, he came to talk to me.” She released a breath. “He has a plan. Or not a plan—an idea. And it’s a good one. If the Hellmouth opens before we find another way to close it…he thinks I should be the one to make with the sacrifice.”

“No fucking way,” Wright said immediately, and she felt a rush of love for him at the look on his face. “Ain’t happenin’. Next?”

“Why you?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed.

“A couple of reasons.” She held up her ring. “Lucifer tried to scorch Spike twice. This kept him alive. He thinks I could survive because of it.” A pause. “And…because I’m a vampire, a demon, I could survive _Hell_. And he could bring me back.”

This much was met with dead silence.

“Guys,” Buffy said, waving a hand, “did you hear me?”

“No,” Dean said shortly.

“No you didn’t hear me, or—”

“No to everything. We find another way. Ain’t no one’s gonna jump into Hell on _mights _and _coulds _and _maybes_. Bottom-line on all that is Crowley doesn’t know shit for certain and we aren’t letting you off yourself.”

Buffy’s throat tightened. Dean was like the brother she’d never had. She fought the urge to hug him.

“I’m not saying this is the plan,” she said calmly, “but if it happens—if they get in and get to the Hellmouth, this makes the most sense.”

“Uh huh,” Wright replied dryly. “And Spike’s not here because…?”

“You know why.”

“Yeah. I know why. I was there when he found you, Buff. The first time. I was there when…” He shook his head. “Fuck, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me, ’cause he wasn’t about to turn you himself. I did that _for him_. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m not gonna let it slide that—”

“Zack, I know you love Spike. And I know you love me. But _if _it comes down to me or Faith, I’m the best bet. Hell will absolutely kill her. I’m a question mark.” She glanced to Dean, then to Nick. “And we all know it won’t be Rosalie.”

He inhaled sharply, nodded.

“And that’s why I wanted to talk to you—all of you.” A breath. “Like I said, I’m not saying this is the big plan, but if—_if _we don’t have something else in place when it all goes down… I need you to back me up.”

Dean swallowed. “That’s a tall order, B.”

“I know.” She glanced between Wright and Sam. “Spike will be with me the entire time. He’s…he’s repeatedly threatened to throw himself in after me if I jump. If it comes down to it, I need you two to make sure he doesn’t.”

“Why?” Wright demanded. “If you’re so sure this plan will work, he’s a demon too. And he’d rather go with you than us. Hell, he’ll probably kill us.”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t want Spike jumping the same reason he doesn’t want me jumping. I’m not willing to let him die on a maybe.”

“Buff, you die and it’s as good as killing him. Trust the guy who watched it happen the first time.”

“I _do _trust you,” she replied. “I trust you to keep him alive. Dawn will need him if it…if it doesn’t work out the way we think.” This she said to Sam. “She’ll need all of you. And Spike will need Dawn too.” She looked back to Wright. “If it was you, Zack, and Cordy or Ro decided they were going to do whatever you did, even if you thought the odds were good, would you let them?”

At this, some of the fire in his eyes faded. “Fuck no.”

“Exactly.”

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Nick sputtered at last. “Sam and Wright to hold back a vampire? And I suppose Dean will make sure Faith doesn’t try to—”

“Yeah, that exactly.”

“Why not Zack or Kelly? Spike and Faith aren’t exactly bloody pushovers.”

“Zack and Kelly both told me to my face they would throw Faith in without remorse,” Buffy said shortly. “Kelly went as far as to say that was the reason God or whoever shot her back—to feed her to the Hellmouth.”

“Kelly _what_?” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “She said that?”

Damn. Buffy remembered the Winchesters liked Kelly. “She said it to protect me,” she replied softly. “Not to—”

“But she said _that_?”

“Dean! Eyes on the prize here.” Buffy sighed and looked at each of them. “I’m not… Look, obviously, I can’t keep you from blabbing to Spike or Dawn or all of them about this the second you leave, but…just think about it. We’ll find another way, but if we _don’t_, we need… We need something. Can you promise me you’ll at least consider it?”

The four men exchanged a series of glances that she didn’t know how to read.

“We’ll think about it,” Sam said at last. “Right?”

Nick grumbled but nodded.

Wright looked downright mutinous, but at length, tipped his head. “Just think,” he said. “We’re finding another way.”

“Okay,” Buffy replied, feeling a bit lighter. Then she turned to Dean. “Well?”

He studied her for a long moment. “Ain’t gonna be you or Faith, you hear?”

“I know. But—”

“Fuck buts. It ain’t gonna be.” He swallowed. “But yeah. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

That was the most she could ask, so Buffy didn’t push for more.

“All right,” she said, walking to the door. “Then I’m out to get a drink.”


	61. Chapter 61

Dean really wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone after the powwow ended, but he’d made a promise to the kid he’d come back for her.

He didn’t go inside the cantina—he really couldn’t stomach a crowd tonight—but texted her when he drove up to the door.

“Took you long enough,” she teased as she hopped in the passenger seat.

“You didn’t hit the hooch?”

“Ha.” After a moment. “You said you got a text and bugged off. Who was it?”

“Faith needed a quickie,” he lied. Granted, he’d probably drop Rose in a ditch if she sexted him asking for some dick about now.

“Did you run into Nick? He’d told Dawn he had to run back by the bunker for something.”

“Did I run into Nick while I was servicing Faith? Would it be creepy if I said yes?”

“Shut up,” she snickered.

“Yeah, it was a total orgy, Ro. Your dad and Sammy were there too.”

“Now you’re just grossing me out.”

“You and me both.”

He drove them over to the cemetery that had been the hottest spot as of late. “Does it bother you?” she asked softly as he shifted into park. “Faith’s…Faith’s history?”

He gave her a long look. “We talkin’ bout the sex still or going for a more general inquiry?”

Rosalie shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. The sex.”

“It still bothering you, kiddo?” Might be a bigger deal to a girl who’d just popped her cherry than to a guy who couldn’t accurately tell you the number of women he’d screwed.

“Not really. I mean, there are moments when I get pretty self-conscious. Nick tells me there was nothing between them but sex and I believe him. He tells me it’s different when it’s more, but I sometimes wonder if he’s feeding me a line, you know? I’m sure she was better at it than me.”

“He ain’t lying,” Dean told her. “Trust me, kid. You found your lobster.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder and then got out the car.

They did a preliminary scan of the place before setting off to walk amongst the headstones. “Is it like that with you and Faith?” she asked after a couple minutes of quiet.

“Rosie, if you want gossip, you best go have a chat with your big sis. I ain’t juiced up on Veritaserum anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “I’m not trying to be a nosy brat or anything.”

“No problemo, Ro.”

“I’ve just noticed how she acts around you and how you act around her.”

He gave a little chuckle. “That is what we like to call sexual intercourse. Trust me, it’s all the rage these days. Word is even you’ve experienced a time or two. Which reminds me, you really need to talk to Sis. She got this seed that shut the baby factory down tight for a few years. Way she talked, Nick oughta know how to score you one.”

“Birth control was kinda a big deal for her, you know.”

Dean scoffed. “Nah. Not getting knocked up was the deal.”

“Faith’s about the little things. She’s not the kinda girl to come right out and say how she feels. Word on the street is you’re that way too.”

“All this blabbing is driving the baddies away. You’re gonna need to zip it if we’re gonna gank anything.”

“They’ll find me,” she said with a skip and a grin. “But I mean it. The pill, the laundry, the way she fetched you things—hell, the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody is watching—she’s smitten.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Smitten? God, that’s the last word to use about her. Better believe she’d punch ya in the mouth if she caught ya sayin’ it.”

“Just sayin’, you might think about asking her out.”

“Too late,” he admitted. “Bought her breakfast this morning.”

“Thanks for the burrito.” She flashed him a grin.

“Awesome, right?”

A couple demons popped up on the scene. Dean had been wondering how long it would take any possible Lucifer henchmen to start coming out to play. Thankfully, Baby Spice was a chip off the old block. Dean stood back after tossing her his demon blade and let her make short order of things.

Truth of the matter was he liked Ro. He probably would have hung out with her a lot more if she wasn’t Sam’s Slayer. She was kinda like a little sister he didn’t get to have. Honestly, he was a little surprised Sam hadn’t stepped in when he’d volunteered to take her out—considering he was such a fuck-up.

“It must be hereditary,” Rose drawled as she put her hands in her hips and gave him an eye roll.

“What?”

“Frowny Face. Sam has that look about ninety percent of the time. You did, too, until Faith came back.”

“Nice try, broken record,” he grumbled. After making sure the coast was clear, he heard himself speak. “Would you ever shove someone to their death to save someone else?”

Rosalie turned and gave him a contemplative look. “Are you giving me some kinda cryptic threat?”

“What?” His eyes went wide. “Fuck no!”

She sniggered. “Just checking.” She paused and seemed to think about the question. “Depends. Am I pushing in a bad person to save a good person?”

“You’re pushing in a good person to save another good person.”

“Then, no. I don’t really think I could.”

“I didn’t think _she_ would,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“Okay. Details. Fill. Now.”

Dean sighed, but figured he owed her that much. “Buffy told me that your Auntie Kel is planning on tossin’ Faith in the hole if it opens up.”

Much to his surprise, Rosalie just shrugged. “Your point?”

“My point? How about the point where someone good is ready to just murder a woman just ’cause she banged her hubby that one soulless time?”

“You’re looking at it from the wrong angle, Deano. She ain’t doing it because that. The woman Kelly would never. Vampire Kelly is going to protect Buffy at any cost. She’d throw me in if Faith wasn’t around.”

Dean blinked. “And that’s _okay _with you?”

“Not particularly. I’d rather make the choice on my own. But Buffy is Kelly’s sire. I’ve read enough on the subject to understand that is about the strongest bond in the vamp books other than mates. Soul or not, they’re vampires. A vamp’s gonna do what a vamp’s gonna do.”

Dean nodded. While it made sense, he still didn’t like it. He couldn’t help that he lost a bit of the affection he’d built up toward Kelly since he’d met her. Biology or not, killing his girlfriend or Rosie wasn’t cool.

“So…uhh…” Rosalie said slowly. “Speaking of weird shit…was kinda weird hearing your sister with Wes today.”

Damn. This girl was seriously Faith’s sister. Slayer juice must be thicker than blood—they both didn’t beat around the bush. Made his respect the kid. “Yeah. Pretty weird.”

“Here you and Sam are trying to process a sister and boom, there she pops up as a fucking moose.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Why a moose, seriously?”

“Pretty funny considering Crowley’s nickname for Sam.”

“Real riot,” he said, unamused. A witch who worked for MACUSA would likely get along better with Sammy better, anyway.

“Though she kinda sounded more like you.”

“You think?” He didn’t mean to sound as wishful as he had.

“The whole music bit? Totally you. And I could see you talking about car rides like that if you had magic powers.”

“Heh,” he said simply. He kinda liked the idea that him and Sabrina could get along. He was really itching to meet her.

“The Wes part was weird.”

Yeah, it was. He didn’t know the guy other than the fact he’d traded his best friend’s kid—the girl he was kicking it with currently—to kill a guy who hadn’t even had a soul when he’d murdered those people. Then he let the woman he was dating—_Dean’s_ woman now—take the fall. Wesley Wyndam Pryce was number two on his shit list, just under the devil himself. “Not the word I’d use.”

“Yeah,” Rosalie said with a snort. “Kinda was hoping to never see or hear from him again. Part of me wishes Nick had killed him when he started beating the shit out of him after we found out the bracelet was a trap.”

“Really?” He didn’t know if he was more surprised by her admission or the image of Nick going primal of somebody. He’d have to give the guy a beer for that kinda chivalry—he had more balls than he thought.

“The bad part of me, yeah. The good slayer part is glad he didn’t. If that makes any sense.”

“Too much,” Dean acknowledged. His problem was the bad might’ve outweighed the good on that one.

“Aww, look boys,” another demon, said waltzing up. “Not the slayer the boss was looking for, but I’d bet he’d still be happy.

This time there was five of them. Dean eyed Rosalie and then the knife, holding out his hand. Time to get a little dirty. “I highly doubt he’s gonna be happy, but we will.”

“I guess Winchester here is the Slayer Fucker. Was one just not enough for you?”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“Well, rumor of the streets, sweetheart, is you like sloppy seconds,” another one said.

“Can we kill them now?” Rosalie asked. “I totally wanna kill them now.”

“Let’s hit it, sister,” Dean said as he raised his demon blade. “Ladies first.”

*~*~*

Faith had managed to calm herself down—time with Buffy in the training room along with a couple double shots of the bottle of scotch she’d found hidden in the closet helped. Pretty sure her ducky showed the signs of alcoholism, but that was something she might give a damn about down the road.

Which was kinda crazy in itself. _Down the road_ was something she was actually starting to consider. Faith hadn’t ever considered her future—at least with a man—and it was scary and exciting. New and improved Faith was a character she hadn’t really figured out just yet.

She’d been walking to the kitchen to grab a snack when she heard voices coming down the stairs.

“Well, that was a crock of shit.”

“That third wave was when we shoulda just made a break for the car.”

Faith met Dean and Rosalie at the bottom. There were both covered in blood. Her breath caught in her throat. “What happened?” she asked in a panic.

“I saved your boyfriend’s ass,” Ro said with a cocky grin.

“Bitch, please,” he teased. “I took out three outta five of that second group.”

“Yeah, well, that third group totally was looking to snag your ass.”

“Fourth seemed more focused on you.”

Faith was out of the loop and didn’t like it. “What are you two yammering about?” She looked at them both closely and saw both looked like there were some cuts hiding under all the blood and guts they’d spilled.

“Demons,” Dean said with a nod.

“Like a fucking demon party,” Ro added. “More than there were last night. They definitely have scared off the local wildlife.” She looked down at herself. “I need a shower.”

“I need a drink,” Dean said as he started off to the kitchen. “You need a beer?”

“I’m fine,” Faith said dryly.

“Wasn’t talking to you.” He turned around and nodded to Rosalie. “You want one?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah.” She skipped to catch up with him.

Faith felt like she’d hit the Twilight Zone. “Not sure how it came to this, but I feel a strange urge to discourage underage drinking.”

Dean didn’t stop until he hit the fridge. “Kid deserves a cold one, Fay. She woulda made ya proud out there.” He pulled out a bottle, opened it and passed it to Rosalie before taking one for himself.

“He’s good,” Rosalie said with a nod. “Like right up there with Dad kinda good.”

Dean chuckled and took a long swig. “I’ve seen your old man take on a whole nest of vamps solo. I appreciate the compliment.” He took another drink.

Faith’s worries were dispelled when the kid tried to follow suit. She tipped the bottle back and nearly choked when she went to swallow the beer. “Fuck, this shit’s gross.”

Dean cracked up. “Drink it enough and you get used to the taste.”

“Don’t take advice from the man who hides a liquor store in his room,” Faith teased as she plucked the bottle from Rosalie’s hand.

He gave her a look. “Found the bourbon under the bed?”

“Scotch in the closet, you damn alchy.” She gave him a smirk as she took a drink of beer.

“I’ve got terrible role models,” Rosalie snickered. “Hitting the shower now.” She walked over and gave Dean a big hug. “Thanks for tonight.”

Faith felt that stupid swoon feeling again as he hugged her back and planted a kiss on a blonde patch of hair. “Back atcha, Sis.” His eyes followed her with a smile as she walked out. “She really is a cool girl. Hopefully my brother don’t douche her up.”

The mention of Sam reminded her of earlier. “Follow me,” she directed as she took off toward their room. It’d be easier to keep him from flying off if she could block his exit with the door.

He downed the rest of his beer and set the bottle on the counter before following her. Once they were inside with the door shut, she handed him the remainder of the other drink. “Why am I getting a feeling you ain’t gonna just scold me for bottles of booze?”

“Don’t be mad,” she said before biting her lip.

He cocked his head. “You know those are just red flags that you’re about to piss me off, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean it, Ducky. You gotta promise to be a good boy.”

His lips tilted into mischievous smirk. “I kinda liked being a bad boy last night.” He took a step forward. “If memory serves, you liked it so good you about passed out. Wanna see if I cracked the code on making you squirt?”

Damn him. She clenched her thighs and worked to ignore the fact she knew he’d just gotten her pussy damp. “In a minute.”

The fire dimmed in his eyes. “What?”

“Remember what I just said and don’t tear off. I hid the pie in the underwear drawer.” She paused. “Sam came here after you left.”

“Shit,” he grumbled.

“He asked me if I put you under a love spell.”

She thought he was going to be as offended as she had been. She was wrong. He tipped his head back and started laughing hysterically.

“Well, I’m glad _you_ are amused. I was kinda pissed the fuck off.”

He stopped when he caught her tone, but couldn’t hide the humored twinkle in his eyes. “Not even a little? Come on.”

“Sorry if I don’t find it really funny the fact your brother would rather think I drugged you than you might actually like me for me.”

He sobered up at that, reaching out to pull her body against his and give her that kinda kiss that officially wet her panties. After a few minutes, he released his hold and stepped back. “And that’s all I gotta say on that, Kitty.”

“Really? I expected a little more righteous indignation from you. Threats to go beat him up in the name of my honor.”

“Baby,” he purred, stepping forward to kiss her nose before dipping down to give her a soft teasing taste of his tongue. “We both know you can defend your honor better than I can, but I’ll go and cut the bitch if you want me to.”

“No,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him. They were both gonna need a shower before bed.

“I guess I just don’t really give a fuck what he thinks anymore,” he told her. “Though if this is a love spell, it’s a little jacked up. I thought they involved a lot less bickering.”

She snorted. “I pretty much said the same thing.” She noticed he had a pretty big cut across his cheek mixed in with all the demon blood. Her eyes darkened. “You okay?” She reaches up to run a finger along the outside of the wound.

“Yeah,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Nothing my Nurse Faith can’t make better.”

She bit her lip as she saw the sexy way his eyes darkened with desire. She felt his erection start pressing against her abdomen. “Well, first things first, I need to perform a full body examination. And we better wash you off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Taking his hand, she led him out the door and to one of the bathrooms. After locking them inside, she began stripping off his dirty clothes, making sure he didn’t have any real injuries to speak of. A few more scratches and a couple of bruises that were forming, but nothing a little TLC couldn’t remedy.

His grabby hands were tugging at her clothes. She gave him the pleasure of getting her naked before she turned and started up the shower. When the water warmed, she stepped in and took his hand to pull him under the spray. After picking up a bar of soap, she began lathering it over his body, washing him clean of the blood of battle.

He was a patient patient as she took her time rubbing every inch of his body. He jerked and moaned as she wrapped a soapy hand around his cock. He closed his eyes and let himself lean against the wall as she pumped her fist down his length a few times before using her other hand to wash his balls—enjoying the way he bucked his hips in response. Then, like a tease, she pulled back and grabbed the shampoo—squirting a generous amount in her hand before starting to wash his hair and massage his scalp.

“I’m corrupted,” he moaned. “I ain’t ever bathing without you again, just so you know.”

She snickered as she twisted him around to be directly under the spray. She kept running her fingers through his hair long after he was clean just because she knew how much he enjoyed her nails gently scratching his head. Then she repositioned him against the wall.

She pressed her body against his, enjoying his reaction as he rubbed his cock against her belly. She began a trail of kisses from his neck downward, pausing every so often to lick his wet flesh. Soon she was to the point she dropped to her knees to continue her journey down his happy trail.

“Fay, baby,” he hissed when her mouth began trailing down the length of his shaft. “Baby you’re too good to me.”

“I know,” she said looking up and giving him a wink. She wrapped her fingers around his dick and gave him a teasing swirl of her tongue at the tip. “Rubber ducky, you’re the one,” she began to sing.

He started giggling uncontrollably, only managing to embolden her to continue. “You make bath time so much fun.” She definitely had a Marilyn Monroe vibe going on. “Rubber ducky, I’m oftly fond on you.” She slipped his cock into her throat and sucked him as deep down her throat she could without gagging.

“_Fuck_,” he gasped as he grasped her head. Instead of pulling her back, he held her there as he began slowly thrusting in and out her mouth.

The way his fingers threaded through her hair and he began tugging her back and forth, fucking her face, turned her on so much she had to react. Moaning, she rolled her eyes back and began fingering herself in rhythm of his movements.

He didn’t stop as he controlled the situation. His eyes remained focused on hers, only briefly glancing down to where she was touching herself. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered in a husky tone that just made her rub herself faster.

She felt his body tense and sucked him harder. He took the hint and thrust himself against her as he roughly grasped her head and pulled her forward. She almost came herself when she watched him—he looked her dead in the eye as his hip bucked and he shot his load down her throat.

As soon as she swallowed the last drop, he yanked her up, his lips crashing to hers with a possessive claim of her mouth. She knew he had to taste himself as his tongue dueled with her own and the thought gave her a heady sort of pleasure.

He slammed her against the wall and dropped to his knees. Before she could react, he grabbed her leg and hoisted it over his shoulder and plunged his face between her thighs. “Ducky,” she whimpered as he sucked her clit between his teeth.

He moaned and released her long enough to dip his tongue right into her slit and now she was the one grasping his head and thrusting against his mouth. “Yes,” she croaked as he fucked her with his tongue. “Just like that, Dean. Don’t stop.”

After a minute he pulled back and again focused on her clit and her body started to tremble. Then she felt him slip two fingers inside her and begin giving her hard and deep thrusts. Crying out, she clawed as him and held his lips on her clit as an orgasm hit her so hard she felt her knee buckle and give way.

He didn’t stop as he held her up, her climax only making him suck and fuck harder. Just when she though she couldn’t take anymore another orgasm—even stronger than before—hit her with so much force she lost her ability to function. She screamed and convulsed as he didn’t stop until her body went slack and she was too overwhelmed with pleasure to even feel—she had a total out-of-body orgasm experience.

He finally relented and guided her as she sank down on the shower floor, she was still trembling and her pussy pulsated as the climax was still coursing through her. Gasping she looked to see him giving her the cockiest and yet most loving look she’d ever witnessed on him or any man before.

“I just cracked the code on how to make you squirt,” he said breathlessly as he leaned over and gave her a soft peck on the lips.

“Oh yeah?” she gasped. Well, that was a first. She gave him a hazy smile. “You _earned _that pie tonight.”

“Worth it,” he said, beaming.

She didn’t know how long they held each other as the water sprayed down over them. All she knew was there were two Faiths—the one who died in LA and the one who had come to life the first time Dean Winchester kissed her that night in the cemetery. And New Faith was one lucky ducky.

*~*~*

Willow was nervous as she sat herself down in a quiet meadow somewhere in the middle of Kansas. She pushed all her thoughts aside as she stared up into the night sky and willed her mind to calm and become one with the earth around her.

This was her test. If this was successful, she’d approach Michael and tell him that she believed she could lock the Hellmouth without being inside the bunker. Then they could hopefully put all this madness behind them. She missed her son, missed Sam and missed all her friends.

She’d Googled remote areas in North America and settled on an unpopulated portion of the Canadian tundra. She really hoped no polar bears would be hurt.

She didn’t want to hurt people or endangered animals.

After meditation calmed and focused her mind, she laid her palms upon the grassy soil and released all the magic she could from her fingertips. If all was successful, a sizable earthquake should show up on the Richter Scale.

With what little energy she had left, she Apparated back to her room. She stumbled toward the bed and collapsed.

She’d check the internet after a short nap. “After these messages, we’ll be right back,” she sang as she passed out.


	62. Chapter 62

Faith awoke in what could only be called a good mood, which surprised the shit out of her, all things considered. The past few days—hell, since she’d been shot back to earth—had been nothing but a shitshow, ramping up in intensity and stakes. But it had also been ramping up in something else, and that part was the part she decided to focus on.

She turned over, or tried to. She still wasn’t entirely used to sleeping with someone who was a big-time cuddler. Or at all, as the case was. But Dean was all about the sleepy-time snuggles, and she couldn’t say she minded. Hell, she’d slept better every night she’d been in bed with him than she had in the whole of her life. Which was something she’d learned about herself—Faith Lehane didn’t mind cuddling.

Granted, that likely depended on who was cuddling her.

Her bladder gave a war cry to motivate her ass out of bed, which was unfortunate considering she felt she could have used a few more winks. Slowly, Faith extricated herself from Dean and did the normal hopscotch dance across the room to find clothing appropriate for hallway strolling. It took a moment to remember that she’d actually put all her shit up like a grownup—after playtime in the shower, she’d come back and finished what she’d started, only with Dean helping her move certain shit and clearing out at least two drawers he swore he never used anyway. It had been oddly domestic and…nice. Figuring out where pieces of Faith fit in a room Dean now referred to as theirs.

She liked the concept of _theirs _way too much.

Except at the moment—she struggled to remember which drawer stowed her leggings and which her T-shirts. After a few minutes of poking around in the dark, she seized Dean’s phone off the nightstand to use as a makeshift flashlight. Right, third drawer down was for pants. Black stretchy leggings—check. Her tank tops were at the top of the pile in the second drawer and the topmost one was of the more revealing of her sporty selection—it had deep cuts in the armholes and gaping cleavage. Fine for fun and working out, but not for socializing sans bra, so she grabbed a sports bra from the top drawer just so she didn’t accidentally flash anyone.

This was weird. But good weird.

Faith put the phone back on the nightstand after debating whether or not she wanted to use the time to make another video. But she had nothing to add to the one she’d made last night, so she decided to skip it. Instead, she tugged on her clothes and made her way to the door.

After taking care of business in the bathroom, Faith found she was fully awake, so she opted not return to bed. It was morning, anyway—not so early that it was still dark out, but not late enough that the bunker was abuzz. She padded her way to the kitchen in search of something to eat, found a box of open cinnamon sugar poptarts and put on a pot of coffee. It was a far cry from Mary-Lou’s place, but Faith figured beggars couldn’t be choosers.

She was on her second cup of coffee when she heard movement from behind, then held her breath as Sam shuffled in right by the table without looking at her.

“Good morning,” he said shortly, making his way to the coffeemaker.

Faith raised her mug to her lips. “To you, too, sunshine.”

Sam went through the motions of making himself breakfast. If one could call low-fat Greek yogurt and a banana breakfast, which Faith could not.

“How did you sleep?” he asked in that strained polite way that was becoming the norm around here.

Faith flashed to the shower, the cocky-ass grin Dean had given her. Then the tickle fight in their bedroom before they’d succumbed to exhaustion. “Oh you know,” she drawled. “Livin’ the semi-charmed kinda life.”

Sam turned to look at her at that, his expression somewhat confused, like he wasn’t sure if she was poking fun at him or not. Which was fair. She wasn’t sure at the moment, either.

“I, uhh, I have an idea. I think. Something else we can do aside from hit the books. Once everyone was up, I thought I’d call a meeting. I think we should hit some of those other Men of Letters safehouses, see if we can collect some more text.”

Faith smirked. “So your plan to keep us from hitting the books is to find more books to hit?”

“Well, yes, I guess if you wanna look at it like that.”

Faith pushed to her feet and headed back to the pantry, her stomach still grumbling. “You guys have any Cap’n Crunch?”

“That stuff is all sugar.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Look at the top shelf, behind the Raisin Bran,” Dean called as he bounced into the room. Faith looked over her shoulder long enough to catch the spring in his step and the grin on his face, which did a lot for her mood. He shuffled past her into the pantry and emerged a second later with a box of the good stuff.

“You snuck out early,” he berated. “And…what are you wearing?”

Faith glanced down. “Skankwear. You like?”

Dean pulled on the collar of her tank and took a peek down her shirt. “Can’t complain. Has a hell of a view.” He winked and started toward the fridge, barely acknowledging Sam. He stopped before he reached the door, a smile of pure little-boy mischief lighting up his face. “Hey, do we have any Squirt?”

Faith, busy pouring herself a bowl, was caught completely off guard. She barked a laugh and shook the box hard enough that little crunch berries went skittering across the floor, which, for some reason, made everything funnier. She slapped a hand over her mouth, met Dean’s dancing eyes, then made to clean up her mess.

“Do we have…what?”

“Squirt. You know. The drink,” Dean replied in a low, deceptively calm voice, but hell, she could hear the laughter behind it.

“Why would we have that? That stuff’s nasty.”

Faith surfaced with a handful of wayward berries, which she deposited in the trash. She caught Dean’s eye as she moved and tried not to bust up again.

“Yeah, well, guess you ain’t had it right,” Dean replied. “And odds are you won’t.”

Another titter erupted through her mouth before she could stop it, not made better when Sam turned to give her a bemused look—his brow furrowed, his mouth pulled into a frown. If anything, seeing his utter bewilderment just made her laugh harder. She fanned her face and pointedly did not look at Dean as she made her way to the table.

She sat herself down again, and when she looked up, she saw the confusion on Sam’s face had cleared, and understanding was storming in.

“Oh.” He winced and gave his brother an incredulous look. “Really, Dean, that’s gross.”

“Speak for yourself,” Faith retorted before she could help it, and was rewarded when Dean snickered.

“And…presumptuous.”

At that, Dean started giggling outright, and the sound was so infectious that she couldn’t help but join in. When he emerged from the fridge, his face was red and he looked about as carefree as she’d ever seen him. He poured himself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, doused it with milk, then grabbed it, some utensils, the cow juice, and stalked over to take the seat across from her.

Faith grabbed the milk and poured, not daring to meet his eyes because she could tell he was waiting for the chance to crack her up again.

Sam seemed rather keen on moving beyond innuendo-laden conversation. He shook his head and shifted toward the table. “I was saying I have a plan. Think we should call a meeting this morning.”

“A plan, you say?” Dean replied in his I’m-not-taking-you-seriously voice, which made the frown on Sam’s face deepen. “Interesting. Well, what are you waiting for? Bespell me.”

This he punctuated by sending her another wink. And maybe if it hadn’t been for that wink, Faith would have managed not to lose her shit. But the way he was going on, being obnoxious and obvious, had her fighting not to choke on her cereal before she started laughing again. But the ornery, pleased look Dean shot her made it worth it.

Sam sighed and looked at her now. “So I guess you told him?”

“That you think I’m under some slayer love spell? Yeah. That was too good not to share,” Dean replied before shoveling in a mouthful of Cap’n Crunch. He swallowed, then pointed at her with the spoon. “You would make one scary witch, bitch. I ain’t about to cross you.”

“I’m scary enough without the mojo.”

“Oh, you have mojo, all right.” He grinned and began humming something that sounded suspiciously like Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Faith leaned back against the wall, shifting sideways on her seat so she could meet Sam’s gaze. “Yeah, he found it a lot funnier than I did, which, my bad. Forgive a girl for not being into avant garde comedy.”

Dean snorted and shook his head, continuing to hum as he attacked his cereal.

Sam looked from her to him and back again, this time with a little indignant huff of his own. “You’re more like him than I thought.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Kind of a dick.”

Faith considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “You are what you eat, I guess.”

At this, Dean threw his head back, tittering again, and extended his hand for her to slap. She did so gladly.

“Well, I can see this is a waste of time,” Sam grumped. “If you see Rose before I do, tell her she’s not off the hook for her morning run today. And see if you can spread the word that we need a group meet once we’re back.”

He stalked off without awaiting a response, which was just as well because Dean looked like he’d been about to interject with something that would just put Sam in a worse mood.

“I’d ask who pissed in his Cheerios, but I’m pretty sure it’s one of us,” Dean said. He scooped up another spoonful, then met her gaze. “Did he tell you this plan?”

“Hit the safehouses, this time for books.” She shrugged, nudging her spoon through her cereal. “Ain’t a bad idea, I guess, seein’ as we’re comin’ up with diddly here. I know there has to be a way to keep this bastard closed, but I won’t lie, this whole thing has me antsy.” She rolled her shoulders. “Bitch of it is Will is the one who closed the Hellmouth in SunnyD, so she’d know how to do it.”

Dean nodded, swallowed, but didn’t look up. “There’s always another way. We’ll find it.”

“Yeah.” Faith sat back, blowing out a deep breath. “Told B the same thing a couple nights back. We decided neither one of us was gonna draw that short straw. But that was before Lucifer had his final ingredient. Felt like we had more time to come up with an alternative.”

“Still gonna be neither one of you,” Dean said sharply, looking up now. “So put that thought outta your mind. You don’t get to punch out that easily, Miss Kitty. There are easier ways to break up with me.”

“Never broken up with anyone before. Is it more complicated than _fuck off_?”

He snorted and glanced down again. “Duly noted.”

“Aww, Ducky, don’t be like that.” Faith rested her head against the wall and watched him study his cereal for a moment. There was something she felt like she ought to say—the type of confessional she’d taken to making to his phone to avoid the awkward, touchy-feely moments. But she wanted to get better at those, too, uncomfortable as they were. Exposed and vulnerable as they made her feel. So, sucking it up, she pressed on before she could think the better of it. “Gotta say, I’m not a fan of dying, but I always felt like the most obvious puzzle piece to take out. When everything went down with Ro, it was the easiest fucking decision I ever made. Nothing keepin’ me here.” She blew out a breath, steeled herself. “I don’t feel like that anymore and I’m pretty sure you’re the reason.”

Dean looked up then and gave her a soft smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed and shifted, looking away before she could become too self-conscious. “That’s what me and B decided. She has people who love her—vamp mate for one, plus her family. I got… Well, _reasons_ to wanna stick around. Told her we’d just pretend the whole slayer blood thing didn’t exist and go from there. Guess I got so used to B pulling solutions out of her ass I kinda thought she’d come up with something by now.”

“We got time,” Dean said abruptly as he finished off his cereal. “Lucie and the witch still gotta get in here, and then get downstairs. That ain’t happenin’ today. Maybe Sam’s plan will pan out and we’ll find something. It ain’t over till it’s over.” He stood and grabbed his bowl, then nodded at hers. “You done?”

She glanced down. “Uh, yeah.”

“Gimme.” He took the dishes to the sink and washed them out, then stalked back. For a moment, she thought he might be pissed—he had a solemn look on his face, and she regretted mentioning any of the larger apocalyptic stuff going on around them for ruining his earlier playful mood.

That was until he pulled her out of her seat and attacked her mouth with his in a hot, nearly X-rated kiss that went on longer than was probably advisable in a communal area. Faith had never been the type of girl to just make out—kissing was a precursor to the good stuff. It revved the motor in the right way but there was no point in doing it if it wasn’t going anywhere. Like all other things, Dean had changed that. She loved the way he kissed her, hungry and desperate and, more recently, like she was something to be savored. She’d let him do this as long as he liked even if he didn’t put his hands to use.

When at last they pulled apart, a bit breathless, Faith grinned up at him. “What was that for?”

Dean just smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Reasons.”

*~*~*

Seemed like the go-to solution in these parts was a road-trip. At least if what Sam had spouted off that morning was to be believed. He’d apparently mulled over the finer points of their less-than-encouraging search of books and determined that they needed the volumes left behind at other places. Only this time, the Slayers were grounded. Xander and Anya had gone in one direction, Mary and Rupert in another, then Dawn and Kelly, and Zangy and Cordelia. Wright hadn’t been too hot to leave while Rosalie was in play as a potential Hellmouth-stopper, so his brother had volunteered in his stead.

Which was why Spike was at the Hellmouth now, in the company of wizards.

By this point in his unlife, Spike felt he had more than enough ammunition at the ready if anyone wanted him to explain his aversion to magic users. The wankers mucked with your head, for one, and there were always consequences to using the stuff. But even he had to admit that the idea of a governing body to oversee and prevent misuse of magic was a right good idea, even if the American branch was, as all American knock-offs were, incredibly inferior.

Their good bloody fortune that the lot of magic-wielders with them at the present were from the right side of the pond. That they happened to be world-famous was gravy, as far as Spike was concerned.

And Spike _was _concerned. The Slayer hadn’t said much on the subject since Red had made off with Faith’s blood and the lack of viable alternatives had him about as bloody close to panic as a bloke could get. Because he knew his Slayer—knew she’d not hesitate to throw herself in if it came down to it. Which was why he was down at the Hellmouth with the magical gits. If solutions couldn’t be found in books, maybe they could here.

Couldn’t hurt to look, could it?

Spike fidgeted, trying not to take up too much space. Ginny and Hermione had been waving their wands for some minutes now and it was hard not to get impatient. He kept swallowing the urge to bark at them, see if they’d found anything of use. They hadn’t, obviously, else one of them would have said something, but knowing that didn’t make the urge go away. Spike was not a bloke who could sit still.

To occupy himself, he dove a hand into his duster pocket and pulled out his cigs. The Winchesters weren’t too keen on smoking indoors, but sod it—he was at the Hellmouth. He lit up and ignored the wrinkled-nose looks of disgust the two birds aimed his way.

And because he knew what the bloke’s first question would be, he didn’t bother to speak up when he heard Dean Winchester approach.

“How’s the search goin’?”

Spike grinned as the birds jumped and whirled to face him at the same time, their wands drawn.

“Could you not do that?” Ginny spat, lowering her wand and returning it to the crevice she’d been investigating. “It’s creepy enough down here as it is.”

“I haven’t found anything of use,” Hermione added, also a bit crossly. “I can feel the magic here, though. It’s…dark and twisted.”

“Well, it is the mouth to Hell,” Dean said, coming to stand next to Spike. “Guess I’d be disappointed if it was light and breezy.” He glanced at Spike, then eyed the cigarette.

“You gonna tattle?”

“Fuck if I care. It’s the Hellmouth, ain’t it?” He crossed his arms, sighing and glaring at the ornate seal that kept this world from the next. “Might not tell Sammy. He might throw a stink about second-hand smoke.”

Yeah, the younger Winchester was a bit of a health nut. Put him in the position of having a bloody unfortunate profession, from Spike’s way of looking at things, if he had a yen to avoid certain death.

“With reason,” Ginny muttered.

Dean snorted, gave Spike a once-over, then said in a low voice, “Been meanin’ to ask if you wear that thing ‘cause we keep it too cold in here or if it’s just a fashion statement.”

Spike blinked and glanced down at himself. “The duster? Fought tooth and nail for this thing, mate. Don’t take it off unless the Slayer gives me a reason to.”

“Uh huh. You fought someone over a coat?”

He smirked and took another puff of his cigarette. “Fought the bird who was wearin’ it. After she snuffed it, seemed like a waste of leather. My way of rememberin’ her.”

There was a very still beat and he heard Winchester’s pulse pick up.

“A slayer, then. The girl you killed.”

“Mhmm. My last, if you don’t count Buffy. She doesn’t but I do.” Spike shook his head, flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Coulda been there a bit sooner, kept it from goin’ down the way it did. Though enough time’s gone by I suppose I can’t say I’m sorry for the way it happened. Means I get to keep her around forever, doesn’t it?” He paused and nodded at the Hellmouth. “Assumin’ she doesn’t get a hankering to do something too bloody heroic. But then, I’ve always heard Hell’s lovely this time of year. Might be time for a visit for the both of us. Find a nice summer home.”

“How does that work?”

“What? Real estate in Hell?”

“No, the…” Dean furrowed his brow, sighed, and turned to face Spike head-on. “How do you go from being a guy who killed slayers for sport to someone who lives with three of them under one roof and makes nice?”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “That been on your chest a while, mate?”

“Not really. Just kinda occurred to me.” He nodded at the duster. “Didn’t realize you wore a slayer-killin’ trophy on the regular. Thought that might be something you didn’t crow about too much anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t I? She was a tough bird to kill.”

“Dude, you’re married to a slayer. Tell me this isn’t a little weird.”

A smirk curled his lips. “Think the Slayer and I haven’t had this conversation, do you?”

“No, and that kinda blows my mind too. This ain’t the kinda thing I’d think Buffy would just be okay with.”

“Didn’t say she was. Wager she keeps it around the same reason I do.”

“Nostalgia?”

“To remember. She knows how I got it. Doesn’t mean she likes it. But Buffy… You ask her sometime, I figure she’ll tell you it’s part of who I am. What I’ve done—the good and the stuff she doesn’t like. Doesn’t stop bein’ true just because I stop wearing a coat.”

“So it’s not…missing the old days?” Dean asked. “Do you? Miss the old days?”

Spike swallowed. “Loaded bloody question, that.”

“Then yeah. You do.”

“What you’re gettin’ at is whether or not I’d go back to it. If I had a choice.” He shrugged. “Always had the choice, mate. Had a government chip shoved up my cranium for a spell there, kept me from a diet of the good stuff. Could still go after demons, though, get my kicks in that way. And it forced me to get close to the Slayer, realize that the reason I’d never been able to kill her was because I was lost for the girl from the first second I saw her. The chip didn’t last, though. Our favorite lawyers performed the surgery, and I coulda gone back to chasing the other puppies anytime I liked. The Slayer and I weren’t together and I had no bloody reason to think we ever would be, even if I managed the bit of rescuin’ to get her out of…where she was. But I was in love with Buffy by then and knew if there was a shot with her, it couldn’t include that.”

“So that’s it. What keeps you from killing now is Buffy.”

There was a question in there he hadn’t asked, but Spike heard it all the same. “You’re askin’ what’ll happen if she does decide to play hero. If you’ll have to put ole Spike down.”

At least Dean didn’t beat around the bush. Without apology or qualifying his answer, he said, “Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t worry. If she goes, I go.”

“But what if she goes and for some reason or another, you _don’t_?”

“You’re not hearin’ me. The Slayer dies, Winchester, and I do too. Take the ring off and go for a nice stroll in the sunshine, if the claim doesn’t kill me first, and I bloody hope it does if it comes down to it.” He hesitated. “Lived a sodding long time without her. Don’t aim to ever do it again.”

“But—”

“You think I’d pick up an old hobby if she was gone. I’m tellin’ you it’d never happen. I don’t care about killing slayers anymore—don’t care about killing anyone. I care about her, the people she loves, my family, and a few select pulsers I’ve decided I’d like to have around.” He eyed Dean up and down. “Includes the lot of you ungrateful wankers, I expect. And Zangy’s already got a stake with my name on it if I ever fall off the wagon, supposin’ Buffy doesn’t get there first. I knew what it meant when I told her I loved her the first time, what it meant for her too. Part of that is bein’ someone she _can _love. Someone who doesn’t hurt her and never would. Call me leashed if you want, but I’m here willingly. And always will be. I never want to be someone she couldn’t love again. Took too long to get here.” Spike perked both his eyebrows. “That somethin’ you can live with, mate, or are we gonna have a problem?”

Dean brought his hands up. His heart wasn’t pounding and his pulse hadn’t heated, so Spike wagered whatever the bloke said could be taken at face value.

“Got no problem,” he said. A pause. “I would have a time ago, had a problem with that. Had a problem with all things not-human. Even those who were tryin’.”

Spike snorted. “Not exactly surprisin’. First time I met Zangy, the bloke tried to make a kebob with a crossbow.”

“And Zangy is Wright, right?”

“Wright. And Morris.” He frowned, then batted a hand. “Bloody confusin’ story there. More mind-fuckery on account of magic-types.” This he said with a glare at the witches, who were either engrossed in what they were doing or deliberately ignoring him. “Never been a normal sorta vamp. Was a bloody punching bag for my first family, and the lot of them saw it as a cosmic joke when those soldier boys shoved a chip in my skull. Most of our kind don’t…”

But he didn’t want to talk about how different he was, because fuck it, that wasn’t any of Winchester’s business. He wasn’t about to start yapping about the mum he’d sired thinking he was saving her life, or how much it’d hurt when Dru had fucked around on him. How Angelus had sought to make him a true monster and always found him lacking, and the utter humiliation that had come with being saddled with the chip in the first place, like he was proving all of them right. Or how horrified he’d been when he’d realized he was in love with the Slayer. How hard he’d fought it, knowing it made everything Angelus and Darla had ever said about him true—always on the outskirts, William the Bloody. Not man enough for the human crowd and not demon enough for the vamp crowd. Had to go for the unattainable and hope the fall didn’t hurt too much.

Loving Buffy had challenged him but being loved by Buffy was what had changed him good and proper. That she’d believed in him. They shared a soul, her soul, and despite the naysayers, they’d proved it was enough.

Spike huffed. “Look, you got any more questions, reckon you can ask the Slayer, yeah? She’ll set you straight.”

Dean gave a clipped nod. “Fair enough.”

“Right. Oi you.” Spike prowled forward, eager to leave the conversation behind. “The two of you find anythin’ wavin’ those wands of yours?”

Hermione straightened and tossed him a scathing look. “There aren’t any spells here for us to uncover. The magicks that contain it are beyond anything we’ve studied, or anything I’ve seen.” She crossed her arms. “We can replicate the protections we placed around the bunker here, but if it opens, it would be a stall. Without someone here to continually reinforce the spells, there is no way to prevent it from opening properly. At least not using the methods I am familiar with.”

“You know who _could_ keep it closed?” Ginny drawled.

“Not helpful,” Dean snapped.

“Well, neither’s yelling at us. So stuff it.” Ginny turned to Hermione. “Let’s get the boys for this. Add all the protections together. Then you best send a return Patronus to Sabrina with the status here. I can send an owl to Percy.”

“You’re gonna contact Sabrina?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

“At some point, yes,” Hermione said. “She already expressed to me that she doesn’t intend to come here—at least, not until she knows it’s safe. She’s afraid of bringing MACUSA, and therefore Wolfram and Hart, to your door. And there’s already quite a bit going on, isn’t there?”

Dean nodded but didn’t otherwise reply, then turned and started up the long, winding stairs that led to this place.

Spike eyed the witches one more time. “Do what you can here,” he said. “I’m not bloody losing her.”

Hermione gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. Ginny just rolled her eyes and pushed past him, muttering things about sappy vampires under her breath as she went.

*~*~*

Buffy rapped lightly on the already-open door to Dawn’s room. “Hey. You got a minute?”

Dawn glanced up from where she was stuffing clothes into her duffle bag. “Kelly said she wanted to light out here pretty fast,” she muttered. “Figure we’ll hit the road in ten or so.”

“I just… I wanted to check in on you. We haven’t talked since…”

Since Buffy had stopped in and made with the lecture. In fact, her sister seemed to have gone out of her way to avoid her since then. Which wasn’t entirely surprising, but given the stakes and that they’d be separated for the next bit, she didn’t want to leave things strained.

“Good,” Dawn said, clipped. “Everything’s good. We’re all just…good.”

“Wow. Convincing.”

“Not my problem.” Dawn looked up, gave a regal shake of her head, and fixed Buffy with a cool, indifferent stare. “Is there anything else?”

Buffy blew out an exasperated breath, rolling her eyes. “You are seriously channeling your teenage self. I wanted to see if you’d given any thought to what I said—”

Dawn broke out into a hard, unpleasant laugh. “Of course. Of course that’s it. Not ‘how you doing, Dawnie?’ Not ‘be safe on the road.’ Not ‘are you having trouble with anything?’ It’s all about making sure I didn’t miss the very valuable lesson in big sis’s latest lecture.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Dawn replied, hiking her duffle onto her shoulder. “Or no. Not nothing. All things typical of Buffy. You bow out of my life for nearly a decade, ship me off to college that I don’t want to attend, and then when you are accidentally reminded that I exist, think you can step back into the role you never actually earned from Mom.”

The words were a physical blow. Buffy staggered back a step. “Dawn, what—”

“It’s always other people with you. Always. First Angel, then Riley. Then you went and got yourself turned and it became the Buffy and Spike show. You weren’t even there when Mom died. You and Spike were living the high life in LA with your new family. Then all that shit with Willow went down and…”

At this, Buffy gained back some of her footing. She recovered the step she’d lost and closed in another one. “And then what? Then Willow erased our memories. Excuse me for not seeing that coming.”

“Well, you should have. Maybe if you weren’t so damn self-absorbed.” Dawn shook her head, barking a laugh, her eyes shining with tears. “And that was it, Buff. I go to college and you forget about me, too busy making your new family with Zack and Kelly. And then when we’re back in each other’s lives, when this awful, traumatic thing happens to us _again_, you check out. Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot. A _lot_. And maybe the reason you weren’t mad about what Faith said to me the other night is because it’s true. Or not even that—worse than true. You don’t wish I’d never been made—you don’t care either way. It makes no difference unless I’m not using your script. Then you show an interest, but only to corral me back in place. I’ve had it.”

Buffy just stared, begging her brain to kick in and translate exactly what was happening here. “Dawn—”

“But hey, I think you’re right about Faith. It is time to get over that.” Dawn brushed past her and Buffy didn’t try to stop her. “And part of that is realizing that maybe it was you I’ve been pissed at this whole time. Maybe seeing you treat her like the sister you never had rubs me the wrong way, giving her _every _break when you can’t cut me a little slack. You know when Mary first told me that you were here, I didn’t want to come? I thought it was about disappointing you then—that I’d dropped out of college and started hunting and doing all the things Buffy wouldn’t want. But maybe it was because of this—because you don’t seem to give a shit, except that I owe Giles money.”

“You are so out of line right now. Are you forgetting that the entire move to England was to protect _you_?”

“And where were you?” Dawn snapped. “Where were you when Glory came for Tara? When Willow lost her marbles?”

“I was there—”

“Oh, sure. _Then_. Because you had to be. Because Mom died. Maybe if you’d been there from the beginning, doing your actual job, none of this would have happened. But we’ll never know that, will we?” Dawn pushed into the hall. “It’s okay. I’ll watch over Kelly. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your _real _family.”

“Dawn—”

“Save it.”

It would have been easy to catch up with her, but Buffy was a little too concerned at the moment that she’d do something like accidentally kill her, so she didn’t try.

In all honesty, part of her had been expecting a blowup from Dawn at some point. Giles had told her that Sam figured some of her hostility over the past few days had been stirred by the resurgence of old memories—grief they hadn’t been able to fully explore, and with grief came anger. And Buffy was a more stable lightning rod to channel all that stuff than Faith.

_Or she could be right. This could be on you._

Buffy inhaled deeply and moved to sit on the bed. She curled her fingers around the mattress and begged for patience. Or for some other inner voice to tell her that Dawn had it wrong. That all of this was a matter of bad timing and hot tempers. That they hadn’t had the chance to muddle through what any of it meant, hopping from crisis to crisis.

But dammit, that voice wouldn’t come. And she didn’t know what that said about her.


	63. Chapter 63

Sam took a deep breath as he sat at the table next to Hermione. He was nervous—and not just because Dawn had been distraught when she’d kissed him goodbye—this was the first time he’d be speaking directly to his sister.

_His sister_.

Yeah, he was a little jittery.

“Relax,” Hermione said with a small smile as he adjusted his shirt. “She can’t _see_ you, Sam. We’re just giving a briefing.”

“Right.” He chuckled wearily. He motioned to her wand. “Ready when you are.”

She nodded and muttered some words he didn’t quite catch and a small little otter flew from her wand and hovered in front of Hermione’s face. “Aww, it’s cute,” he said before catching himself.

Hermione giggled at him. “It really is.” She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, taking on her more professional demeanor. “Sabrina, I do hope all is well. Things here have taken an unexpected turn and our research on MACUSA and Wolfram and Hart has taken a regrettable pause in light of more imminent concerns. Willow’s work with Lucifer has focused around opening the Hellmouth and unfortunately, they have gathered all the necessary ingredients to do so.”

“Tell her not to come,” Sam whispered.

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “_You_ can tell her yourself.”

Fuck. Sam swallowed and looked at the otter that was somehow going to shoot a magical voicemail to his sister. “Umm…heh…hi.”

“Wow.”

Sam turned around and found Dean standing in the doorway, shaking his head in exasperation.

“_That’s _how you start? Can you stop and re-record this thing?”

Hermione gave them both a look. “No, actually. Once the connection breaks, it travels directly to the intended.”

“Shit,” Sam and Dean said in unison.

“Good lord,” Hermione grumbled. “What they are saying is that we have decided it’s still safest for you to remain away from here. We plan to reinforce the bunker and therefore the Hellmouth. Ron, Harry, Ginny and myself are here. All slayers are present and Spike as well.”

“And us,” Dean said a little bitterly. “Don’t get all snobby now, Hermey.”

She scoffed lightly. “And Dean and Sam, obviously.”

“Hey,” Dean said sheepishly.

Sam turned and glared at him. “Hey?” he mouthed. And he’d given him shit?

“Umm…” Dean shrugged. “Crowley calls Sam _Moose_. Kinda funny your Patronus is one. Sounds like you got good taste in music, which is awesome. You’re running around with the dude who murdered my girlfriend—that’s kinda the opposite.” He paused. “I killed Hitler.”

“Dude,” Sam snapped in exasperation. “Seriously?”

“Still beats ‘hi’,” Dean barked back.

“Not that this conversation would, but please don’t try and come. It might not sound like it, but we do have control over the situation. Should it open, we believe we can use spell-work to keep it from _fully_ opening until a proper solution can be found.”

“Yeah,” Dean said gravely. “Because we don’t go around sacrificing slayers around here. Hellmouths or fucking grudges be damned.”

“Think you made your point,” Sam whispered.

“Just want to make sure she knows who she’s running with. Kinda the least we can do at this point. She deserves to know what the motherfucker did to Ro and Fay—you know, our slayers?”

“She _knows_,” Hermione softly chastised. “Sabrina,” she said louder. “We will let you know of any changes. In the meantime, if you can think of any unique spells or enchantments that would work on keeping a location locked and contained, please send word. Until otherwise, be safe and vigilant.” She looked over to the guys and nodded with her brows arched. “Goodbye?” she mouthed.

“Bye,” the both lamely called out in voice.

Hermione flicked her wrist and the otter zipped away. “Good grief, I actually feel _sorry_ for her. She learns she has big brothers and they turn out to be you two knuckleheads.”

“You suck,” Dean pouted.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad…was it?”

Hermione stood and laughed as she left the room.

Dean gave him a worried look. “Did we blow it?”

“_We_? No. _You_? Yeah.”

“Shut up! I told her about Hitler and complimented her music taste.” He snapped his fingers. “And I told about how you two have a moose connection. Bonding.”

“Bonding?” he said skeptically. “That was you bonding?”

“Still beats ‘hi,’ you douche canoe.”

“Hey!” Wright said, running in a little breathlessly. “Downstairs at the hole. Now. Buff and I got Rosie and Faith distracted.”

“How?” Sam asked, standing up.

“I found a site with all seasons of _American Ninja Warrior._” He looked to Dean. “You’re welcome for the free Faith tip.”

“Thanks, Number Two,” Dean said, strolling over to pat him on the back before heading downstairs.

Wright blinked and gave Sam a befuddled look before turning to follow. “Did you just call me _shit_?”

Dean laughed. “I wasn’t, but after last night, I’d say that’s how you rank on the scale.”

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Wright asked, tossing Sam a glance over his shoulder.

“Unfortunately,” Sam grunted in disgust. “Seriously, _don’t _ask.”

Dean turned around and winked at them. “So, Wright, I gotta soda question for you.”

*~*~*

At least someone appreciated the fact he was totally trying to offset the gravity of this meeting. Wright was still snickering every time he looked at Sam. The notorious hunter had admitted that he also was fond of a little Squirt every now and again with the missus.

“What’s so funny?” Nick scowled at them both as he stood next to Buffy and Cas when they arrived.

Dean couldn’t help himself. “Nick, you ever had Squirt?”

“Dean!” Sam balked. “For fuck’s sake!”

“That grapefruit drink?” Nick gave a confused drink. “I have, but it’s never been my first choice. Why?”

Dean snickered. “So you’ve never, say, shared a Squirt with Ro?”

Wright punched him in the arm. “Don’t answer that!” he snapped as he pointed a finger at the boy. “_Never_ answer that!”

Buffy’s face went from perplexed to annoyed. “Gross! Really, Dean?”

He gave a sheepish smile and a shrug. “Was really just trying to lighten the moment.” This was way better than the full freak-out that was hiding under the surface.

“I’m still confused about the soda,” Nick said quietly.

Dean gave Wright a wink. “See? No worries, Dad.”

“You say that like I don’t want her…” His eyes grew wide with horror. “Fuck, there is literally _nowhere_ I can take that where it’s not disgusting.”

“Buffy,” Sam said. “Please save us from this conversation.”

Buffy gave a humorless chuckle. “Save you? Kinda the whole point of this now, isn’t it?”

Dean sighed. Playtime was officially over. Time to get to the heart of the matter. “Okay, B, let’s get to it.”

“I brought Cas up to speed,” she said, nodding to the man in question. “He’s agreed to hold anyone back if they try to jump or follow. Spike went out on a blood run, so let’s make this quick. I need an answer.” She turned to Sam. “I saw how you worked out the teams for the book hunt. I’m hoping that means you’re in.”

Sam shrugged. “It seemed an easy way to buy some time in case…”

Dean knew his brother couldn’t finish the thought because Dean couldn’t either. “I’m still a firm _no_,” he said gruffly. “This sounds too much like giving up. And a fucking _maybe_ from Crowley?” He shook his head.

“Tell me what other choice we have?” Buffy demanded. “Really, please, tell me what other plan we have if this opens?” She waved her hand over the closed mouth to Hell.

“We don’t let it open,” Wright said tentatively. “We have to kill Willow if she breaks in.” He held up his hands when Buffy shot him a dirty look. “I’m not saying I _want_ it. Nobody here wants it! But truth of the matter is that she made her choice and if it were anyone else, we all wouldn’t hesitate.” Wright looked around. “Okay, well three of us wouldn’t hesitate.” He nodded to Buffy and Nick. “You two haven’t ever had human blood on your hands.”

Nick swallowed and nodded. “You’re right though. Willow is the threat. Lucifer can’t work the spell without her, apparently. We know what she’s capable of.” He took a shaky breath. “We can’t ignore London.”

“No,” Wright said, eying the kid. “We can’t.” He looked to Buffy. “I know it goes against your code, but I’ll only sign on to this under the condition that we try to take her out if she breaks in. Not some plan to contain her—I mean we take her out, Buff.”

She shifted her feet and looked down uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam said softly. “You just agree to step back and we will handle it. Take it out on Lucifer—he’s the one who brought us to this point.” He walked over and laid a hand gingerly on her shoulder. “Think of Spike. Think of Dawn.”

Dean saw her begin to cry. He swallowed as he too walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her other shoulder. “We got you, okay? We’ll follow you until the end. Just give us a chance to get there _with _you because you gotta know that she ain’t gonna stop if she goes through with this. Your family needs you.” His voice cracked slightly. “All of us.”

With that, she broke, turning to bury her face in his neck as she started to sob. Tensing his jaw to keep from breaking down himself, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she let out all the sadness, fear and despair they were all feeling in the moment. There was no way this was going to have a happy ending now.

The five guys all exchanged looks for a couple minutes as Buffy cried. He knew they all were on the same page—nobody looked at Buffy any less. Her tears weren’t a show of weakness. This was a warrior preparing to sacrifice herself to save the world. Nobody understood that like they could—except maybe the two upstairs they were trying to protect.

“Okay,” she whispered before pulling back and wiping her eyes. “Okay,” Buffy croaked, nodding at Dean before turning and looking each other man in the eye.

Wright released a long breath. “Okay.”

Sam nodded. “I’m going to talk to Harry. Explain to him we have to focus on Willow if there’s a breach.”

“I’ll make sure Rose and Faith don’t get any ideas about running down here,” Nick said somberly.

“And I’ll distract them when they inevitably try,” Dean said giving Buffy a small wisp of a smile.

“I will remain here,” Cas said nodding at the seal. “I will serve as the last line of defense if they penetrate our barricades.” He looked to Buffy. “And for what it’s worth, I believe Crowley is right about your ability to survive the fall.”

“That means everything,” Dean said solemnly.

Slowly, Wright and Nick headed up the stairs. He and Sam exchanged a look of sad understanding—they both knew this wasn’t going to end without death. Dean’s eyes softened and he gave him a small nod—they didn’t say it like they should, but despite everything, he still loved him more than the world. He never went to battle without recognizing that it might be the final number for one or both of them. Sam swallowed and nodded back before turning to go up the stairs.

Buffy gazed at the seal in utter dejection. Dean gave Cas a similar look as Sam—he’d earned a brother status in Dean’s heart—before turning his focus on the Slayer. “Come on.” He grabbed her shoulder. “Let’s go watch _American Ninja Warrior. _If Nick’s there, we can make more Squirt jokes until he gets it.”

“How can you do it?” Buffy asked him without an ounce of malice. “Stand right here at the mouth of Hell and pretend this isn’t going to end badly?”

Dean contemplated another smart-ass response but decided she deserved better. “Because I’m scared shitless. Because if I stop a minute, it all starts looking real and bleak and fucking terrifying.” He sighed. “You want to hear me tell you I don’t know if any of this is gonna work? That the real reason I’m goin’ for Willow is because I’m scared what will happen if you jump? Will you make it? Will it close it or will Faith have to follow you down? Will Spike lose his shit without you and start pickin’ up bad habits? Will Lucifer ever make good on his threats on Fay? If something happens to her, do I even want to keep trying anymore?”

He stopped after that last question—it hadn’t crossed his mind until that moment. He didn’t know much, but he knew he’d only questioned his will to live with one other person. He loved his baby brother more than life. What did it say that his brain was putting Faith upon the same level?

“Spike isn’t the same vampire he was then. He’s changed.” She looked down at the seal. “We all have. Him, me, Faith, you.” She tilted her face up and gave him a sad smile. “Dawn, Sam and even Willow.” She sighed. “I’m worried about Spike, but not about that. I don’t want him going all _Romeo and Juliet _on my ass—killing himself before I pop back up. Can you tell him I said that? Tell him to not go and stroll into the sunshine until he knows I’m really dead? Because if I survive the fall, I will spend eternity crawling back up. It’d suck ass to do all the work just to find out I gotta go kill myself because he got impatient.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Tell him that, Dean.”

He nodded. “No worries, Juliet. I got your back.”

“And tell Faith it was my turn. Couldn’t let her save the world back-to-back—totally woulda ruined my street cred.”

He barked a small watery laugh. “You know she’s gonna kick my ass for this.”

“Yeah, but she loves you so she won’t kill you.”

It was said in passing, but hit him straight in the heart. Was it even possible? Could Faith ever grow to love someone as broken and unworthy as him? Because part of him he’d been hiding from everyone—including Faith and himself—feared he’d done and found the love of his life. There was no way he’d ever find a woman half as perfect as Faith Lehane.

“Come on, _Ducky_,” Buffy teased and took his hand. “My man is home. Let’s go fake it till we make it.”

“Ducky?” Cas startled both of them—damn, if he didn’t have a weird way of standing so still a guy could forget he was even there.

“Not now,” Dean told him. He wasn’t having any more conversations on the fucking Hellmouth. Nodding at Buffy, he motioned for them to go.

A somber part of him realized this was very possibly the last time Buffy would ascend these steps. Somehow years of experience with saving the world and fighting to stop—and sometimes triggering—apocalypses didn’t do shit to make this shit any easier.

“The funny thing is I actually don’t even remember what Squirt tastes like,” he admitted. “I mean, between you and me and the stairs down to Hell, I remember exactly what _she_ tasted like. Never gonna forget. But the actual drink? I didn’t even know it was grapefruit.”

“You had to ruin the moment?” Buffy didn’t look at him, but he could hear a twinge of amusement hiding behind her chastisement.

“Shit was getting real,” he teased.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Now a kinda want a Squirt.”

Dean laughed so hard he cried.

*~*~*

Michael’s eyes flashed an eerie golden color as he looked at the map from the USGS Earthquake Hazards Program. “You did that?”

“Yup.” It ranked a 6.3 from here in Kansas to northern Canada. She was pretty confident she had the skills to break through whatever Lucifer and Dean had convinced Harry and the others to put over the Hellmouth and the bunker to keep them from locking it down.

“Oh baby,” Michael crowed. “You’re rocking my world, Red Hot.”

She couldn’t help but give into her own excitement. Willow felt good about this. For the first time since her world had been ripped apart, she truly felt like she was on the right path. “So where’s the spell?” Michael hadn’t shown her the actual text yet.

“Slow down,” he chuckled. “I still have to go get the ingredients out of hiding.” He snapped his fingers and a piece of paper emerged. “Here’s the spell. Work on your enunciation.”

She stared at the words and then looked up to him with confusion. “This isn’t Latin.”

He barked a laugh. “Latin? How quaint.” He shook his head. “Enochian.”

Willow blinked. “I can’t read Enochian.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said with a smile and a wink. “Native tongue for us fine feathered folk. It’s a lot like Latin, but less sexy. Trust me, if you can say ‘rah, rah, sis boom bah’ we got this.”

From what she had researched, it made sense. If she’d had more time she would like to learn to read it for herself. Until then, she was counting on the angel on her shoulder to help her through.

She gave him a smile and a nod. “Okey dokey artichokey.”

Maybe she should have been a little more concerned that he left singing “Highway to Hell,” but in his defense, they were shutting the highway down. And once it was locked, maybe everything could start getting on a path to normal—at least a new normal.

“_I’m on the highway to Hell,” _she sang to herself.


	64. Chapter 64

The complete elation of hearing her brothers’ voices for the first time was almost immediately eclipsed by what she heard. It had been cute at first, listening to them bicker. They sounded, well, like brothers. Brothers who were hers, who cared enough about her to want her to stay where she was. For her own safety. And here she’d been intent on not going to Kansas for _their _safety.

Sabrina swallowed hard and glanced up to Wes, who hadn’t moved in the last minute or so. Rather, he kept staring at the place where Hermione’s Patronus had faded as though willing it to return. Or fearing that it would.

When her brother—she wasn’t sure which one—had mentioned that Wesley had killed his girlfriend, Sabrina hadn’t known what to think. Neither, from looking at him, had Wes. He’d been befuddled, and not in the way she found charming now. And for a moment, she’d wondered if her brother had it wrong. Or had misspoken. Or they had misheard. There had to be a logical explanation.

But then he’d kept talking. Slayers. _Fay_. That hadn’t left much to the imagination.

“She’s alive.”

Sabrina jerked her head up, her heart in her throat. The words seemed anticlimactic considering how long she’d waited to hear him speak. “Wes?”

“Slayers plural. Their slayers.” Wesley shook his head, sinking now to a seat at the bed across the tent. It had arrived by owl post a day ago, and had thus far exceeded her expectations, even if she’d rather be at a Holiday Inn. “Buffy is there, we know. Rosalie. But Rosalie can’t be who he meant. Unless…” He frowned. “No, Dean was closer to Zack’s age, and there is no way he’d let the man near her. It had to be Faith.”

Faith. Sabrina felt petty as fuck, but she couldn’t help the way her gut twisted at the sound of the woman’s name on Wes’s tongue.

“They had the bracelet. They must have found a way to restore her…” Wes shot to his feet again. “I have to go.”

Sabrina shot to hers too, tears stinging her eyes. “What?”

“I have to see her, Sabrina. I have to…to tell her how sorry I am. For all of it.” He paused near the entrance to the tent, rigid. “He said she was his girlfriend, though.”

Was it possible this guy didn’t know how in it she was? Hell, she’d abandoned her career and her life to escape with him. She could have just as easily left him to his own devices, but she’d wanted to be with him. They’d had sex now numerous times, but maybe that had been all it was to him. Sex. He certainly hadn’t done anything to suggest he felt for her what he’d felt for Faith. And that his first instinct upon hearing she was alive was to go find her?

Yeah. Her heart felt fairly Crucio’d.

“What about her being his girlfriend?” she asked, not sure she wanted the answer.

“It’s just…” Wes turned to face her, his brow furrowed. “Faith was not a woman who…embraced labels or convention. We hadn’t even talked about what we were going to be to each other when everything went badly. It just strikes me odd that she would be in a relationship with anyone so soon after…”

“After you?” Sabrina asked dryly. “Yet here _you _are with me.”

_You are with me, aren’t you?_

“It’s different,” Wes replied. “I’m… I always _wanted _this, Sabrina. Fred and I were engaged when she was murdered. I went slowly with Faith… Well, until we went fast, that is, but had it become anything, it would have been at a bloody snail’s pace. But…” He shook his head. “Maybe I heard wrong. Or bloody hell, maybe he is referring to Rosalie.”

“Isn’t she eighteen? And you _didn’t_ kill her.”

“No, but that would have been the outcome had Faith…” Wes broke off again. “If she’s alive, I have to see her.”

“You still love her.”

The words were out before she could stop them, and she hated them for how small and petty they were. How small and petty she was. This woman had sacrificed herself to save another girl’s life, and if there was a chance she had been given new life, that was cause for celebration. Even more so that it sounded like her brother was smitten with her. Indeed, if Faith was alive, it was great news for everyone except Sabrina, and only because Sabrina had gone and fallen for one of the apparently many men who was in love with her.

Wes seemed to see her at last, though, and something on his face softened.

“Sabrina,” he said, “part of me will… I love what she gave me. It took her dying for me to see that she was right. I stopped…_hating _because of her. I was willing to kill because of someone I loved and she was willing to die for someone she loved. And yes, I loved her for that. But…darling, if you’re asking if I want her back… I am not the person I was then anymore. And even if I was, it would never work.”

None of that made her feel better, exactly. Sabrina crossed her arms, feeling at once entirely too conspicuous.

“All right,” she said, rising to her feet. “I… I can’t recommend going to see her in either event. You heard everything that’s happening there right now. Once it’s over and everything…we can find a way to get you back to her.”

Wes frowned. “Back to…” Comprehension seemed to dawn behind his eyes, like he’d just clued into the conversation, or heard it from her end. He swore under his breath and closed the space between them. “I’m a prat,” he said, taking her into his arms and pulling her against his chest. “An utter prat. I’m sorry.”

Sabrina swallowed, enjoying the warmth he offered but not allowing herself to relax. “You can’t help how you feel.”

“If she’s alive, if that was right, I want to _see _her. Just see her. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her everything I just told you.” He pulled back and cupped her cheeks, searching her eyes. “I want her to know what she did for me—but I don’t want to resume anything with her. I don’t want a relationship with her and even if she wasn’t involved with your brother, she wouldn’t want one with me. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I want to be who I am with _you_.”

That sounded a bit better. Sabrina swallowed again, nodding and forcing herself to hold his gaze. “Well, it sounds like my brother might have a problem with that. Just so you know what you’re getting in to.”

Wes grinned and whispered his lips over hers in a soft kiss. “You’re worth it.”

*~*~*

Anyone else had made the Slayer cry the way kid sis had, and Spike would have given them a good walloping—the kind that would make a bloke wonder if he’d live to see tomorrow. Buffy had been a mess when she’d returned to their room, curled into a ball and cried about things she hadn’t cried about in years like it was all made fresh.

The Bit had been a right little brat the past few days, much as Spike hated to admit it. He tended to come down hard on her side in most things, but the stress she’d been causing Buffy on top of everything else had been nagging at him. He didn’t rightly feel one way or another about the other slayer, though he wagered Dawn was sore on other things that had been unbottled the night Willow had restored everyone’s memories.

He was glad when Buffy asked him to run in for some blood. Gave him a chance to swipe her cell phone and unleash as he wouldn’t where prying ears could hear. He’d driven a good ways away from the bunker before pulling over and dragging up Dawn’s phone number. He was counting on the Nibblet to ignore the call once she saw it was from Buffy, and he wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t think he could stand to talk to her now as it was—he just needed to yell.

“You have a lot of bloody nerve, you ungrateful little twig,” he spat after the beep sounded. “Always told Big Sis it was a sodding mistake to keep you in the dark about what all she went through, but she thought it was for the best. Sparin’ you and the others so you wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t have to have the image seared onto your eyeballs the way I do. Well, buckle up, ‘cause Spike’s about to share.

“The first time I saw her at Wolfram and Hart, she was trussed up like a sodding goose waiting to be slaughtered. They’d stripped her, left her spread so Angelus could have a go any time he fancied. Couldn’t see the color of her skin, covered with welts and cuts. Took to slicin’ off strips of skin, breakin’ parts of her just to watch ‘em grow back funny. Never let anythin’ heal. She stopped bleedin’ and they’d open her up again. She thought I was a dream, Dawn, when I first came in. And when she saw I wasn’t, she thought I was there to rape her, too. Asked me to go easy. Not make it hurt too bad.” His voice grew thick as he forced himself to relive that moment, how Buffy had gazed at him, half-conscious almost entirely gone. “Took comin’ back to her a couple times before she accepted I was there to help. And she asked about you. All the time. Wouldn’t let me tell her anythin’ except you were okay, ‘cause she didn’t want Wolfram and Hart to know what you were or how to find you. Think about that for a mo’. She’s strung up and likely gonna die any bloody day and she _asks about Dawn_. Even down there she was protecting your ungrateful arse.

“Wanna hear about the day she changed? Little Ro got a vision that they would snuff her before we got there. Ask her about it sometime. It was the day Zangy and me were storming the castle and my bitch of an ex had a vision of her own. Sure enough, dear ole Daddy beat us to the punch. Stabbed your sister, ripped a chunk out of her breast, raped her more time for the sodding road, and then tore her throat out. That’s how I found her—how Zangy and I found her. He gets the bright idea to turn her and puts two in my chest so when I come around, it’s already done. Your sis went from being Angelus’s chew-toy to becoming her own worst bloody nightmare overnight. But life doesn’t end there for the Slayer, does it? Never mind workin’ through what those bastards did to her, now she has to deal with being the thing she hunts. Adjust to drinking blood and knowin’ that no matter how many other birds are called, she’ll never be able to stop. Even now she’s thinkin’ about tossin’ herself in to save the world again and she hasn’t been the bloody Slayer in more than a decade. But that’s Big Sis for you—always thinkin’ of others.

“We chatted with your mum before we left Sunnyhell, you know. Reckoned she knew somethin’ was comin’—that the operation hadn’t worked. She was worried off her rocker about you, of course, and Glory. Joyce’s biggest concern was Glory would be the first. That even if we beat her, they wouldn’t stop comin’ for you. And look what bloody happened. Willow goes bad and tries to unlock the Key. So yeah, we shipped you off. To keep you _safe_. As long as you were around the Slayer, you were gonna be in the line of fire. No one ever stopped comin’ for her. It’s been ten sodding years and it hasn’t stopped. Wolfram and bloody Hart’s been fuckin’ with us every day. Feature what mighta happened if they ever got wise to what you were?

“So let’s recap. Buffy was kidnapped, tortured, and raped within an inch of her life until they took that too. Then she became something she hated. _Then _she lost her mum. _Then _her best mate decided to take on the Big Bad mantle before erasing our sodding memories and rearranging them how she bloody fancied. When you get home, Dawn, I wanna know how you figure she oughta have handled that. The Slayer was nineteen bloody years old.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“The Slayer loves you, Bit. We both do. Reckon you’ll never know how much, what she’s done for you. But I bloody swear it, you shoot off at her again, make her cry again, and I’ll rip out your spine.”

He released a breath as he ended the call, then tossed the phone into the passenger side. He felt moderately better but wagered he wouldn’t really feel it until the Nibblet had made peace with the Slayer.

Or he really would have to rip out her spine.

*~*~*

Buffy had more or less managed to get her emotions under control by the time Spike entered the rec room, a mug of warmed blood, extra cinnamon, in hand. He paused when he got near enough to sniff her, then looked pointedly at Dean, who had taken a spot next to Faith on the sofa.

“Everythin’ all right, pet?” he asked in a low voice as he pressed the mug into her hand, though not so low that everyone else in the room didn’t immediately look at him, then at Buffy as though to see what might have worried him.

“Better now,” she replied, and kissed him. She’d had this explanation ready, knowing he’d ask why she smelled heavily of a certain Winchester and tears. “I was… Dean and I were talking earlier about the thing with Dawn and excess emotions just kinda exploded all over the place.”

Only thing was she hadn’t told Dean this would be her cover story. But to his credit, he didn’t so much as stutter when Spike turned his attention to him. He offered a half-grin. “Practicin’ for future big brother moments,” he said, and tightened the arm he had around Faith. “Figure I’ll need to, given the son of a bitch she’s runnin’ with.”

“What happened with Dawn?” Sam asked, his face a mask of concern. “She seemed upset when she left, but we didn’t have time to talk.”

“All good, B?” Faith asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Just…sister stuff,” Buffy replied ambiguously and took a long swallow of blood. “Never a dull moment among the Summers girls.”

Spike snorted and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Bloody understatement. The Bit’ll come around, pet.”

This she wasn’t so certain about, and the fact that she didn’t know what the next few hours or days had in store made everything worse. Crowley’s plan and Castiel’s vote of confidence notwithstanding, there was every chance that, if the Hellmouth opened, the last memory Dawn would have of her would be the ugly things she’d said before leaving. And yeah, the small vindictive part of Buffy couldn’t help but be selfishly gratified by the thought, but the rest of her knew it would destroy Dawn to know those had been the last words she’d shared with her.

Though now everyone knew that she and Dawn had fought—she assumed she’d have to fill Dean in, at least, on the salient details so if Spike decided to bring it up he’d at least know what to say. Which meant that soon everyone would know what a crappy older sister Buffy had been during the most critical time of Dawn’s life.

Great.

The thought had barely had time to settle when the ground started to shake. It was subtle at first, a little rumble, but quickly escalated to the type of quaking that had furniture sliding and the television on the wall testing the strength of its hinges.

“Shit!” Faith jumped to her feet. She met Buffy’s eyes with a look of horrified comprehension.

“Weapons,” Dean barked, and he, Sam, and Nick tore out of the room at a speed fit for demons.

Wright was behind them, though he paused in the doorway to aim a glare at his daughter. “You stay here,” he snapped.

“Fuck that,” Rosalie shot back, already halfway to the door.

“I mean it, kid, don’t get any funny ideas.” He bolted in the direction of the weapon’s room without another word.

Buffy and Faith shared another look, then started moving in unison, Spike and Rosalie hot on their heels.

The wizards, who must have been closer to the bunker’s entrance, were already outside by the time she spilled out, wands drawn and eyes scouring the landscape.

“Ron, Ginny, the perimeter,” Hermione said, her voice at a high pitch. The two redheads took off without awaiting further instructions.

“Where is she?” Buffy demanded. “Where—”

“We don’t know,” Harry snapped. “She could be anywhere.”

The bunker door exploded open and the Winchesters filed out. Dean tossed Faith an ax without looking at her, and she caught it without looking at him. And that exchange made Buffy want to cry all over again, but she managed to keep it together. She had to.

“Nothing!” Ron gasped as he rounded the bunker, stumbling a bit as the ground gave another hard shudder. “She’s not bloody anywhere. Hermione, what the—”

But then Buffy understood, the realization a punch to the gut. She turned to Faith, who seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion.

Willow wasn’t here. She didn’t need to be.

The Hellmouth was opening and there would be no fight—only sacrifice.

Buffy cut her gaze to Rosalie then back again. Faith gave a minute nod, then exploded into motion, turning to crack the girl over the head with the blunt end of the ax. But Rosalie was no novice slayer anymore, and raised the sword Sam had shoved into her hands in a quick deflect, her eyes blazing with defiance.

“You think I didn’t see that coming?” she demanded. “After last time? You don’t get to make all the sacri—”

That was as far as she got before her father smashed his crossbow over the back of her head. She crumbled to the ground without ceremony.

“Shit,” Sam said, his eyes wide.

Wright nodded at Nick, who looked somewhat flabbergasted. “Stay with her,” he said.

“Always,” Nick croaked.

One slayer down. Buffy only had seconds to act. Faith was distracted, studying the girl on the ground, panting, her eyes shining with tears. The hard thunder of her heart echoed in Buffy’s ears, and she knew—Faith was psyching herself up. Taking a few seconds now to prepare for another death, to say goodbye.

She turned to Dean, tears spilling down her cheeks. And in a soft voice, so soft Buffy figured only she and Spike would hear, said, “I’m sorry, Ducky.”

Pain flashed across Dean’s face, but then he looked at Buffy and they understood each other.

“I’m sorry too, baby.”

Buffy spun into a roundhouse kick, smashing her foot into the back of Faith’s head. She saw a tumble of brown curls as her sister slayer fell into Dean’s arms, and then she was in motion, the scenery around her a blur. Back into the bunker, through a maze of corridors. She heard her name being shouted, screamed—_Spike—_felt the thunder of his steps as he tore after her. Tears stung and she would have sworn her heart had started pounding for as hard as it shook.

There had never been a chance. It was always going to come down to this.

*~*~*

If B had meant to knock her out, she hadn’t kicked her hard enough.

Faith blinked and looked up at Dean, her ears ringing with the sound of a vampire’s roar. It took a moment for him to come into focus. And for a moment, she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him or punch him because she knew. Everything came into focus and she knew.

They had planned this shit, the motherfuckers.

“You son of a bitch,” she spat and shoved away from him. B had a head start and vamp blood on top of everything else, but goddammit, she had to try. She couldn’t let Buffy shoulder this on her own.

She heard Dean scream her name, heard Wright and Sam, too. Or maybe that was the wizards—she didn’t know. All she knew was she had to move. Had to get there. Had to at least try. She wouldn’t let herself think of what would come next, of what this meant. If she was able to overpower Buffy by some miracle, that meant…

Fuck, she didn’t want to do this. Her heart was in her throat, tears in her eyes, every instinct in her body screaming at her to stop. To let this one go. It was the complete opposite of that night in the cemetery—there was none of the calm, none of the vindictive defiance she’d been pumped with then, the drive and burn to take down as many motherfuckers as she could in the interim. The knowledge that the move was the right one.

Every time Dean screamed her name, a piece of her chipped away. She wanted to stop and answer him, scream at him and throw herself at him and bury herself inside him so she didn’t have to consider what might happen in the next five minutes.

But that was selfishness talking—that was the old Faith. As she saw when she stumbled down the stairs that led to the Hellmouth and found Buffy standing at the opening, a swirl of fire billowing from where the ornate seal had been blown away. The flames stretched and raged, pounding against the unseen barrier the wizards had in place. But those shields were crumbling, spiderweb-like cracks splintering the invisible curtain, and it would shatter at any moment.

Spike was at Buffy’s side, tears streaming down his cheeks. “They’ll hold it off, love. They’ll—”

“Spike, I gotta do this.”

“No, baby, you don’t. We’ll find another way. We’ll find—”

Buffy turned then and their eyes locked. Faith saw the conviction burning there, the certainty. It froze her in place, which was how Dean was able to close his arms around her the next instant, haul her to his chest.

This much was enough to jar Faith out of her head. She began to struggle. “Dean, let me—”

“Not on your life, Miss Kitty,” he growled into her ear. “You ain’t gettin’ away that easy.”

“Sorry,” she barked at him.

“You don’t—”

She jabbed her elbow into his gut. “For that,” she said as he wheezed and released her.

But the second she started moving forward, a force pulled her back, back, back until she was pressed against the cavern wall. She didn’t understand until she saw Cas, until she saw Spike pinned there, too, twisting and screaming and straining, his fangs out, eyes blazing, and face wet with tears.

Buffy approached him, crying too, and cupped his face. Faith couldn’t hear what she said, but from the way Spike started sobbing in earnest, the meaning couldn’t be missed.

Then Buffy kissed him, hard, and turned just as the shields behind her shattered in earnest. And she became a blur of motion, by Spike one second and in the air the next, her body arced in a graceful dive, and then she was gone.

A burst of brilliant light exploded from the mouth of Hell, and the cavern dissolved into a cacophony of shrieks. Faith squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, her heart pounding so hard her chest ached. And as quickly as it had happened it became quiet again, until the only thing she heard was the ringing in her ears and the guttural, ripping screams of a mortally wounded animal. Screams that hurt the ear, that made her throat burn in turn, the sound an audible bruise. And she knew what it meant.

She knew.

“Spike! Spike!”

Faith forced her eyes open, almost not believing it when she saw the still cavern. The seal on the ground was back in place, fastened tight. Buffy was gone.

_Oh god._

_“No!” _Spike was screaming. _“Slayer!” _In a blink, he was on top of the Hellmouth, pounding at the seal with closed fists, hard, awful sobs tearing through him. “Open up! _I bloody told you, you stupid bitch! I bloody—”_

“Spike!” Sam was running forward, Wright a hair behind him.

“Open up!” Spike thundered hard, knuckle-cracking punches against the seal, his fangs flashing in the dark.

Then Faith could move, autonomy returned. She started to rush forward too, not knowing what she intended to do but that she had to do _something_. Only Dean was there again, catching her in his arms and reeling her into his chest.

“It’s over, baby,” he said into her hair before kissing her temple. His voice was thick with tears. “It’s over.”

“Dean—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Buffy, so fucking sorry, but I ain’t sorry about keepin’ you alive. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

Something warm struck her heart and spread outward. The knowledge that she was alive, that it was over, not quite catching up with her body. She wanted to melt into him but couldn’t. Not when she knew what came next. “Dean, let me go.”

“Never.”

“Ducky—” Faith watched as Sam seized Spike by the shoulder, her heart leaping. “Ducky, don’t make me elbow you again.”

Whether he had seen or heard something in her voice, she didn’t know. But Dean let her go, and she was moving before she realized it.

Spike released a guttural roar, turning his yellow-blazing eyes on Sam, who reached him first. There was nothing of the vamp she knew there. He was gone.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. “Spike, don’t—”

Sam was against the wall, a grieving vampire at his throat.

“You knew!” Spike screamed. “You bloody bastard, I’ll—”

Faith seized the vampire by the shoulder and tossed him across the space of the cavern, then swung around so she was between him and the younger Winchester. “Blondie,” she said in a low, calm voice, “Spike you gotta know B—”

But Spike wasn’t listening. He roared again and charged at her, moving with the preternatural speed of the apex predator he was. Dean screamed her name again, but Faith was ready, grabbed the demon by the shirt and shoved him into the wall behind her. Rock cracked and pebbles scattered along the ground, and this time Spike didn’t launch back to his feet. This time he stayed on the ground, curled in on himself.

“There was no fuckin’ way you were keepin’ her here!” Faith yelled, her voice hoarse and her cheeks wet. “Not after she made up her mind. You know that as well as I do.”

A vacant, haunted stormed his eyes. “I feel her,” he said hoarsely. “I feel her. I _feel…_”

Then, without warning, he burst into tears—hard, body-wracking sobs, and the tension in Faith’s body began to seep out. She watched, that pain in her chest intensifying, as the man broke down. As the weight of what had happened collapsed.

She was crying too, and when Dean pulled her into him this time, she didn’t push back. She wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and let it all out.


	65. Chapter 65

Sam gasped for air as he surveyed the scene. Spike was a crumpled up mess as he sprawled across the seal. Soulless vampire notwithstanding, he couldn’t blame him for attacking him—he felt guilty enough to strangle himself. He’d honestly had hoped they would have been able to spare living this nightmare.

He met Dean’s gaze as his brother held Faith to his chest. As the slayer continued to shake and cry muffled sobs against her brother, he saw the emotions screaming from Dean’s eyes—guilt, grief, anger and relief. Relief it was over and relief it had worked—Faith hadn’t jumped first.

Cas was the first to speak. “Buffy survived the fall.”

“H-How do you know that?” Wright asked as the sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs above.

“Spike feels her. Had she not survived, I believe Spike would have been unable to control his demon.”

There was noise as the witches all burst into the small space. Sam honestly didn’t care what they said. “If she survived…” He looked to Dean.

Dean nodded, dropped an arm from Faith and fished his phone from his pocket. After placing the call, he hit the speaker button.

The rings were amplified by the stone walls. “This is the King of Hell’s direct number. Please only leave a message if you are a demon, God or the attractive lady I met tonight,” Crowley’s voicemail said. A scoff. “Or a bloody Winchester.” There was a beep.

Dean growled. “Pick up, you son of a bitch. We know you felt that down there. Bring Buffy back like you promised!” He hung up and gave Sam a concerned look.

“We go old school,” he replied to his brother’s thoughts. “Get the stuff out and summon him here. Hopefully with Buffy.”

Sam didn’t waste a moment and whirled toward the stairs. There at the base stood Rosalie, blood streaked through her blonde hair, staring at him and everyone with a look of pure icy hatred. “Rose—“

“Fuck you,” she hissed. “Fuck you all.”

“It had to be Buffy,” Wright said to her. “She has the vampire blood and the ring. You or Faith wouldn’t have survived the fall. Buffy _did_.”

“You don’t get—” She shook her head. “Just fuck you all.” She looked at Spike and the seal and turned away in tears and began to ascend the steps.

Sam would try to talk to her later. First things first—getting Buffy home.

*~*~*

Well, that had been a smashing success. All that effort on Lucifer’s part and the bloody thing hadn’t even fully opened before it was shut up tight. That in itself was a cause for celebration.

The fact that he’d found himself a brand spanking new toy for his collection was possibly the most excitement he’d felt since becoming King of Hell. Collecting souls had been his favorite part of being King of the Crossroads. First had been that pope. Second had been the vampire with a soul. The find of his bloody life was getting the soul of a vampire and _slayer_ in his office. Forget the shelf—he was going to wear it around his neck.

He hadn’t thought about it when he’d talked to her. His main objective had been beating Lucifer at his game—he could have easily talked Squirrel’s bird into making the leap, but that would have come with the awkward sensation of hurting Dean. He hated the fact the traces of human blood that couldn’t be purged made him give a damn, but Hell help him, that Winchester boy mattered to him.

Buffy was lying on the sofa in his office, still knocked out from the fall. He’d removed the ring after he’d gotten her to safety. He couldn’t extract her soul with it on.

It’d been easy to ignore the phone call—he’d been expecting it. He’d also predicted they would summon him, which was a more unpleasant demand to tune out. Only after making sure everything way secure if she awoke did he answer.

“Where is she?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why does Moose always go straight to the questions?” With a smirk, he sought out Dean.

“Have you found her?” Squirrel’s eyes looked awfully red and puffy. He’d expected the guy to be a little happier considering he had his girl pressed to his side.

“What do you think I was doing when you called?”

“You weren’t at the base of the Hellmouth when she fell?” asked the Winchesters’ pet angel.

“You’ve been down there a time or two, Cas,” he drawled. “It’s not quite Lebanon. There are lots of nooks and crannies. Word on the street is she stuck the landing.”

“_You promised to bring her back!”_

Uh oh. He reacted to the vampire a second too late—bloody William tackled him and lunged straight at his throat. He felt the fangs pierce his flesh just as a symphony of spells rang out from all the wizards and witches along with a burst of light from the angel.

Spike turned to deadweight upon him as the impact of that much magic knocked him out cold. Sam had rushed forward to pull the vampire off and Crowley scrambled to his feet and clutched the wound at his neck. “Fucking _hell_,” he growled. “Nobody thought of sedating the bastard _before_ he went feral?”

“We did,” Dean responded. “We just wanted to give him a chance to hurt you if you didn’t bring her back.”

“Ungrateful prat!” he snapped. “You have me to thank for your girlfriend even being _alive_ right now. Coulda just as easily sold her on the fact she was likely the one who was intended to make the bloody dive in the first place! Why else would have Chuck brought her back? Because he’s an all-around nice guy? Gimme a break.”

Dean’s eyes darkened in that dangerous look that reminded him of better days. “I’ll fucking end you here and now.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “Don’t do that. You know how I get when you tease me.”

“Crowley—” Moose began. He wasn’t going to listen to whatever boring blah he had on the tip of his tongue.

“Stuff it, Moose. I went to Buffy because I had a theory. A theory I’m not ashamed to say worked like a charm. She’s alive. I’m going to find her before anyone else. Now do us all a favor and stop that bloody witch and Lucifer before you let them trigger another apocalypse. I have better things to do than clean up your messes.”

With a grunt, he snapped his fingers and transported back to his office. Since she hadn’t awakened yet, he might take the time to gather some tools. Extracting her soul wouldn’t be easy, but he sure did like a challenge.

*~*~*

The group started to fraction once Crowley disappeared. Rosalie slipped off with Nick nipping at her heels. The magic team was working with Cas as a unit to transport Spike to the dungeon for a timeout. Wright and Sam stepped over to stand next to Dean and Faith.

“I’ll call Cordy and Zack,” Wright said in a soft voice. He looked to Dean and then Sam. “One of you needs to call your mom and Giles.”

Dean swallowed and gave his head a small shake. He didn’t think he could stomach telling Giles that his surrogate daughter was currently at the bottom of a hellmouth. Sam nodded and assumed responsibility.

“I don’t know about Kelly and Dawn,” Wright said hesitantly. “I don’t think either of them should hear it from a phone call.”

“_No!_” Sam snapped with a look of horror. “Buffy is Kelly’s sire, guys. I’m not how she will handle it, even with a soul.” His voice cracked. “And Dawn.”

“Right,” Dean said, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Kel now.”

“_Wait!_” Sam cried. “What are going to say? Dawn could be in danger if she flips!”

“Trust me,” he said, putting his cell to his ear. He bit his lip as Kelly answered. “Y’all need to make a U-turn, pronto.”

“What’s happened?” the vampire said in a rush.

“Looks like Willow and Lucifer are making a move tonight. We need all hands on deck. See you two soon.” With that, he hung up and looked to Sam. “There. That’s all you can do without telling the truth.”

“Yeah,” Wright said slowly. “Might use that one on Cordelia simply for the fact that she’s riding with Zack. Pretty sure he wouldn’t get fangy, but better safe than sorry.”

“Okay,” Dean said simply and then gave Faith a tug. She’d lost all her fight and had basically become catatonic after they’d ascended the stairs of the Hellmouth. He didn’t know if her spirit was truly broken or if she was just working to keep from a violent outburst like Spike. With his arm around her waist, he gently guided her to their room—she needed privacy and he needed to know how bad she hated him now.

Once they were closed off from everyone, he sat her down on the edge of the bed as he held her to his side. “Fay, baby,” he croaked eventually. “Say something.”

He felt her body tense. “Say what?” she asked blankly.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “Just… I know you’re mad at me so let’s start there. I deserve whatever you throw at me.” He flashed to the bottle of Crown he had literally thrown at her and his guilt only intensified. Part of him hoped maybe she’d hurt him—maybe the pain would distract him from all the guilt and grief he was fighting with.

“I’m not mad,” Faith said with a sigh. “At _you_.” She shook her head. “Lucifer. Willow. Crowley. Chuck. Buffy.” She scoffed slightly. “Them I’m pissed at.” She turned her head and gave him a sideways glance. “I woulda done the same thing, Ducky. Same as you and same as her.”

“I know.”

“And what if he’s right?” she whispered. “What if it was supposed to be me? Like he said, why would Chuck had brought _me_ back and then take Buffy?”

“Kitty,” he said with a low warning that he was going to argue against her.

“Why would he kick me from Heaven, Dean? What other purpose do I have?”

“_Fuck_,” he hissed as he turned his body to face her. “What _purpose_? Jesus fucking Christ, Faith, you’re the fucking Slayer.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m _a _slayer, but not _the_ Slayer. Ro’s that now. And Buffy is a slayer and a mate and a sister.” Her voice trembled. “It was supposed to be me.”

He grasped her shoulders and gave her a hard shake until her eyes focused on his own. “Listen closely to me because I’m only gonna do this once. _You_ are your purpose. You aren’t less than Ro or B or any other fucking person on this godforsaken earth. You got that? You don’t get to go around throwing yourself on the sword because you don’t think you matter. You _matter_. To me and to everyone—you _matter_. You’re loved just as much as Rosalie and Buffy and don’t you _ever_ forget that again.”

It wasn’t until he finished talking that he realized he’d said it. Truth was he didn’t even know if she’d caught it with the whole rest of the speech. But it was in that moment he processed everything he’d been feeling about her these past few days—he loved her. Not just in the ‘hope you don’t die’ kinda sense—he loved her.

He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. All he knew was it was fucking terrifying.

Something in his words had gotten to her because she grasped his cheeks and dragged him to her mouth. As their tongues touched, his mind switched off and he began moving on instinct. All he knew was he needed her now.

Standing together, they began tearing away their clothes, stripping in a desperate rush to feel him inside her—join their bodies as one. As she crawled onto the mattress, he moved between her spread thighs and slipped his cock between her folds and inside her pussy with no pretense or foreplay. “Thank God,” he whispered as he felt her wetness coat his shaft.

“No, Ducky,” she rasped as she clawed at his shoulders, pulling him down to press his forehead to her brow. “Not him. _Us_.”

Yes, this was _us_ and no one else. Nobody felt as good as her. Nobody ever made him feel as good—not just as he thrust himself in and out her tight little cunt—no one made him feel so good to exist.

He needed to feel her come—needed all the pleasure that came from feeling, hearing and seeing her orgasm. Knowing he could give her that was more powerful than any drug or spell or curse he’d ever experienced. Slipping his hand between them, he found her clit and pressed it with the pad of his thumb. He felt her body tense as her hips arched off the mattress. “Yes!” she cried.

She squeezed him and he felt his balls tighten. Rubbing her hard, he worked to get her off before he came. He didn’t make it and groaned as he felt the first spurt pour inside her. That must have been what she was waiting for because as he erupted, so did she—bucking wildly as her body writhed in ecstasy.

Laying there in the immediate afterglow, they clutched each other and held on as the endorphins kept them riding the waves. Gasping for air, he was overcome with the urge to speak. Without thought, “I love you,” tumbled from his lips.

_Holy fuck_.

There was no way to take that back. Certainly no way to pretend it was the precursor to some less earth-shattering revelation, like ‘when you fuck me like that.’ No, he’d just said it and left it hanging all out there in the open.

Only douches did the whole ‘I love you’ after sex thing. That was just shit. It was either just post-sex brain babble or it was a way of putting someone on the spot. What was she supposed to say when he had his dick buried in her snatch? Thank you?

There was no smooth move to pull here, so he just improvised. He bent down to give her a soft kiss, then pulled out and rolled over to lie next to her. After giving her a brief chance to talk or run, he laid a hand across her abdomen and scooted her over in a cuddle.

“Ducky,” she said hesitantly.

“Shhh,” he said, leaning over and kissing her temple. “Take a cat nap, Kitty. Ducky needs his beauty sleep.”

He felt her body slowly relax and she let her breathing calm and slow to normal. He watched her a moment before closing his eyes and willing himself to do the same.

It’s not like saying the words made them any truer. And it didn’t matter whether she felt the same. Well, it mattered a whole fucking lot, but not in the sense that it would change how he felt. He just hoped that he hadn’t gone and fucked up the best thing he’d ever had. If he’d just ruined their relationship here at the start, he honestly didn’t know what he would do.

He fell asleep hating himself. It came too naturally.

*~*~*

Willow was terrified for a minute after the spell was complete. She almost swore she felt it open instead of close, but Michael was too excited for that to be the case. Then the earth stilled and the night grew quiet and Willow knew it was over.

Michael left without speaking—presumably to do something angelic. She didn’t have the strength to Apparate and try to follow. It didn’t matter anyway. Her job was done.

She pulled out her phone and hit a few buttons before putting it to her ear and falling back to lie in the grassy meadow.

“Hello.”

“Sam.” She sighed as she heard his voice.

“Yes, how may I help you?”

She understood. Wherever he was, he wasn’t alone. “I can call back.”

“One moment,” he said calmly before he spoke again. “Pam, can you go tell them I’ll be there in a minute? Did you happen to grab my tux from the house earlier?”

A female giggled. “Of course. Though I think the other one fits you better. Maybe I should check with the cleaners?”

“Sure. And check with Donna. She said she was going to stay home with Oz. Make sure she isn’t having second thoughts. She gets silly when it comes to fundraisers with the Bartlets.”

“You know _I _could watch him tonight.” She had a sultry tone to her voice that made Willow’s skin crawl. And her voice sounded oddly familiar.

“No!” Willow shouted into the receiver.

“Thank you, but that wouldn’t work,” Sam said, much more composed. “Besides, I thought you were coming?”

“Right,” the woman said. “Well, I’ll just go and…you know.”

Things were quiet a few moments before Sam said anything. “Willow? Are you okay?”

“Who was that?” She couldn’t keep what sounded an awful lot like jealousy from coloring her question. Not that she was jealous. She had nothing to be jealous of. She and Sam were way past over. Yup. No jealousy.

“That was my personal assistant, Pam. She takes care of everything for me—appointments, food, clothes and the like.”

“Pam.” Yeah, she didn’t say that with bitterness. Not like Pam was Pam and Sam was Jim and they were the perfect couple from _The Office_. Though they worked in an office. Together. “Who takes care of _everything _for you.”

“Will.” He laughed softly. “She’s my PA. She takes care of me, but not like…” He cleared his throat. “Not _everything_.”

Okay. Message received. He wasn’t banging his secretary. Now she felt kinda foolish. “Not that it would matter, obviously. I mean, you’re a grown man and can do whatever you want. Whoever—”

“Problem is I kinda have a type—a _very_ specific type. And with work and fatherhood I haven’t had much time to date. Now if you know of an app for sexy redheaded witches, I’m open to give it a shot.”

Her heart fluttered as a little titter bubbled out. Damn, she was still smitten with him. Which was confusing because she didn’t even know where she fit on the whole LGBT scale nowadays. “I’ll ask around,” she teased.

“Good.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Because my last hookup ended with her running away and forcing me to get a lecture from Harry Potter and Giles in my underwear.”

“Yikes.” She cringed. “Yeah, she sounds like a bitch.”

“Not even a little.” He sighed, his tone turning serious. “Willow, we checked the books and I made Hermione give Veritaserum to Buffy, Spike, Faith and _both_ Winchesters. I interrogated them myself. They are dead certain that the guy you think is Michael is actually Lucifer.”

“Then they were all brainwashed,” Willow replied solemnly. “Which is better than being just bad, but still means they’re dangerous until Lucifer can be stopped. Thankfully, he won’t be able to open the Hellmouth now.”

“He won’t?”

Willow grinned. “Nope. Did you know you gotta thing for sexy redheaded witches who kick ass and lock up portals to Hell?”

“Thank God,” Sam rasped. “Where are you?”

She looked up at the setting sun. “Just outside enjoying the view. My batteries are kinda running on empty at the moment so I’m gonna lie here and recharge.”

“Come here,” he begged. “When you can, just come here to Oz and me. Now that this is over—”

“There’s still work to be done. This was just the start. We still have to stop Lucifer and protect the other hellmouths. And then we have to fix everything with Tara.”

“How?” Sam asked. “The other stuff I get, but how do you fix something that happened over a decade ago? Do you just go and make her all better or do you go back and change time? Because one of those doesn’t sound possible and the other sounds…” His voice cracked. “You would kill Oz.”

“I would _never_…” She broke off as it hit her that he was right. There wasn’t a way to undo everything she’d done without erasing her son from existence. “Changing the past isn’t worth the cost. I can’t fix what I did without hurting him and I will have to live with it forever, I guess. Buffy and everyone may never forgive me, but that’s just the way it’s gonna be.”

“And Tara?”

“Tara will understand. She always has.”

“There’s a lot here to understand.” He released a small humorless chuckle. “Hell, _I _don’t understand half of it and I’m in the middle of it.”

“Well, I don’t either and I’m _all_ of it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have to save her.”

“Because of the guilt or because she’s the love of your life, Willow?” He paused for an answer, but she couldn’t give one. “Just be honest with me. I deserve that much. Am I fighting a losing battle? Is the plan to bring Tara back and just…have a perfect little family? You, her and Oz? I’ll just be the guy who gets to play Dad every other weekend?”

She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Everything so far had been right here in the present—or in the distant past. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“Well, do me a favor—do your _son_ a favor—and figure it out. Considering you’ve abandoned us the past few months, it seems like the polite thing to do.”

“Sam.” The edge in his voice made her heart ache.

“Look, I gotta go. I’ll accept it either way, but you need to decide _before_ you go and save Tara. I don’t want to spend my life waiting. And Tara doesn’t deserve it either.” A pause. “Bye, Will. Congratulations on the Hellmouth.”

As Sam ended the call, Willow didn’t feel anything like celebrating.


	66. Chapter 66

Faith couldn’t sleep. She didn’t think she would have been able to even if Dean hadn’t shocked the hell out of her, her body still revved from the mad dash she’d made to the Hellmouth. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it happening. Buffy bowing in the air in a graceful dive, the rush of both relief and horror and then guilt that had crashed over her in the following seconds, in realizing she would live beyond this apocalypse. That she didn’t have to say goodbye to this.

To Dean.

Despite what she’d said to B, a very real part of her had thought this would be it. Her final swan song. Seemed fitting, in a way—get to a place where she was actually not just coasting through life. Where she had something more than she deserved. That was an appropriate ending for her. Poetic. Wasn’t enough that she’d die for the kid—no, she needed to get a taste of the thing she’d never thought she’d have just to give it up.

Then Dean…

_I love you._

Had he meant to say that? Probably not—she knew him well enough to have caught the slight flare of panic in his eyes and had expected him to laugh it off or try to. But he hadn’t. He’d also made it pretty damn clear he didn’t want to talk about it, which had probably been for the best because she hadn’t known what the hell to say.

She still wasn’t sure. Never had she thought she’d hear those words from anyone, let alone someone like Dean. Someone who actually knew her—the good, the bad, and the downright terrible. And hell, she didn’t know how to feel. Confusion and bone-crushing fear ran in tandem, but the thing that kept pushing forward, that she couldn’t shove down, was something so fucking pure she didn’t know what to call it.

Was this what happy felt like?

The thought had tears stinging her eyes, and upped the terror part a hundredfold. Because if she was happy, really happy, that meant she had something to lose. Something even more than she’d thought she’d had before the apocalypse had kicked off and that by itself had been spectacular.

This was about the time she’d make a video, but Faith didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to risk waking him, didn’t want to abandon the warmth of their bed, or give up the feel of his arm around her middle, his chest at her back. And…she wanted to say it to him. No screens. He deserved that at least.

Also, the fact that he was probably asleep didn’t hurt.

“Dean?”

Nothing. Just the rhythm of his breaths as they rustled through her hair, caressed her neck.

She ran her fingers over the hand resting against her stomach. “Ducky?”

He grunted and tugged her closer.

“If you meant what you said earlier… Fuck, this is scary ass shit.” She released a breath that sounded more like a laugh but apparently wasn’t loud enough to stir him out of sleep. “No one’s ever told me that before. Well, no one that… No one who mattered to me the way you do. No one who knows me the way you do. And you do—you matter a fuck-ton and you know me about as well as anyone. Don’t know how the fuck that happened ‘cause it sure as hell ain’t what I was looking for. Never thought I’d have it. But now that I do? I told you before this shit went down that you were the reason I didn’t feel expendable anymore. That was true…but you’re also the reason I wanna stay at all. I didn’t wanna jump, didn’t want it to be me, because of how I feel about you.” She released a hard sigh, her eyes stinging. “I’ve never been in love. I don’t know how it works or how it’s supposed to feel, or if I’ll ever get there. But if I can be with anyone, I want it to be you.”

There was nothing but silence for a moment, the air thick with the echo of what she’d said. Then Dean released a ragged, trembling breath that let Faith know he was awake.

“Do you mean that?” he asked thickly, pulling her tighter against him.

“How much did you hear?”

“Pretty much all of it.”

“Pretty much?”

A pause. “Okay, all of it.”

She snorted. “So you were playing possum on me.”

“Fay, I…” He breathed again, another one of those from-the-gut breaths, and nuzzled her neck. “Wasn’t sure if you were about to… Well, like you said, you weren’t looking for this when we started up. Wasn’t ready to take the gamble that...” He pressed a kiss to the base of her throat. “You mean it, though?”

“I’m scared shitless.”

A low chuckle. “Join the fucking club, baby. Just tell me you mean it.”

She twisted in his arms so that they were face-to-face, even if she couldn’t see him in the dark. “I mean it,” she said. “Dunno if I would’ve said all of it had I known you were awake, you ass, but—”

His mouth covered hers and she relaxed—more melted into him. This she understood. This was the easy part. Focusing on how he kissed her, how he felt when he began to harden against her thigh, how he touched her. The change had been subtle—so subtle she hadn’t noticed until now. The way he cupped her face, how his hands trembled when they skimmed the length of her throat, the possessive need there when he grasped her hip and pulled her against him. The physical pull between them had intensified completely without her realizing it, and that was something she’d never experienced before. Sex getting better rather than mundane. Every time with Dean upped the ante in some small way, and that should have been its own indication. And hell, maybe it had been. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been in it before this moment. She’d already conceded that she cared about him, that she was his fucking girlfriend, and that was miles ahead of anything she’d done before.

Faith threw her leg over his and pushed him back to the mattress, straddling his hips. He groaned into her mouth, and fuck, that sound did things to her. All of him did. She trembled and edged forward so his cock was pressed against her slit, then shifted up to put him where he belonged.

Dean broke his mouth from hers, throwing his head back. “Fuck.”

“Uh huh.” She pulled back so she was upright in his lap, then sank down onto him with a soft mewl. “I love that,” she said before she could stop herself. And then she found she didn’t want to. If she couldn’t say for sure that she loved him, the least she could do was tell him the things she was sure about. “I fucking love the way you feel inside me.”

“Faith…” He lifted himself up so they were both upright, and fuck, that felt even better. She locked her ankles around his waist and began to move. Not much and not at the frantic pace she was used to, but she didn’t want that—she wanted this. Rolling her hips, savoring the sensation of him inside her, against her, his mouth on her skin, feeling the weight of the words he’d given her every time he kissed her.

“I love that I can do this.” She hooked her arms around his neck and began working her muscles around his cock, shivering when he groaned and pumped up into her. “Love that I can let go and you can take it.”

“Fuck yes.” He kissed a line up her neck. “I can take whatever you give me.”

“And I love that.” She tugged on his ear with her teeth, rocking harder, clenching. “God, I love your cock.”

“Shit.” Dean pressed his brow to hers, dropping his hands to her hips to help her move faster over him. “I love your filthy fucking mouth.”

She grinned and kissed him, and whimpered when he growled and took over, teeth scraping against her lips, chased by his tongue. “I love yours too.”

“Yeah?” He dug his fingers into her hips. “So you love it when I tell you that you have the tightest fucking cunt and I’ll never get enough?” Dean bit at her shoulder, feeding her a soft whimper when she clenched harder around him. “That I love the way you feel when you come?” He dropped a hand between them and tapped her clit every time she slid her pussy down his shaft. “What do you need to hear, baby?”

The answer was there against her lips. She knew exactly what would push her over the edge, but hell, she wasn’t sure she wanted to fall just yet. But she felt the shudders rolling through him, the way his muscles tensed and, though she couldn’t see his face, when she kissed along the side of his jaw, she could tell he was straining to hold on.

“Faith…”

“Tell me again,” she blurted before she could stop herself, bouncing harder, faster, her muscles beginning to work around his dick in earnest. “Please, Dean. Say it again.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I love you. I love you. I fucking love you.”

And that was it for her. Faith buried her face in his shoulder and dug her teeth into the skin there to stifle her gasp as she spasmed around him. The answering groan he fed her could have gotten her to the edge again, and hell, maybe it did, because the feeling of pure fucking euphoria didn’t wane. Not as he held her to him, emptying himself inside her. Not as their bodies stopped rocking, the sounds coloring the air going quiet again. He was sweaty and panting, and so was she, her skin tingling all over, sensation magnified almost beyond what she could handle.

Faith sighed as Dean fell back against the bed, still holding her to his chest. “I love this, too,” she said a moment later.

He barked a strangled laugh. “I’m one lucky ducky.”

“My ducky.”

“Yeah. I’m your ducky.”

He was, she realized. Entirely hers. That was a heady thought.

A terrifying thought. Because now, more than ever before, she had something real to lose.

And knowing the world they lived in, she probably would. All she could do was hope to hold onto it while it lasted.

*~*~*

He started to come around and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. But the edges of consciousness were there and refused to recede back into the black, leaving him with the harshness of reality. The reality that no longer had Buffy. The reality where she’d jumped.

Buffy had jumped into the mouth of Hell. She was gone.

A hard cry tore through Spike’s throat, his head throbbing, his chest cracked and the rest of him seized with pain. He gave a low whimper, rolling onto his side to push himself to his feet. The pain of movement had his arms and legs shaking, but he managed to climb upright. He blinked blearily at his surrounding, saw he’d been tossed into an empty room with a sprawling bloody demon trap painted on the floor. He dropped his head against his palm, wishing for a moment he had one of those angel blades to fall on. But under the screaming of his demon was the beat of the connection to Buffy, as strong as it had ever been.

The bitch was alive, wherever she was. She and the others had schemed and planned and she’d taken the bloody dive and she hadn’t _told him_.

A strangled sob choked through his throat. That was what he couldn’t get over. He could see the bloody logic, could grasp why she’d think what she had. But she’d deny him the same chance, the same opportunity. That she’d do this at all without letting him go with her. Without even telling him, especially after that little sanctimonious speech she’d given him at Rosa Lee’s. Her blathering on about being open and honest, even about the things that were scary. The things they didn’t want to talk about.

Well, two could play at that sodding game. If she thought she could keep him outta Hell, out of following her just because she had a bloody head start, she had another think coming. That much he’d decided almost immediately, once the demon had stopped screaming. And once the bloody King of Hell hadn’t shown up with the Slayer in tow.

When he got his hands on her, he was going to rip her apart.

Spike stumbled toward the door, gritting his way across the borders of the demon trap. They’d sussed out right quick that the rings made the traditional means of keeping demons in one place bloody moot, though it smarted a bit more than he’d like to admit. He fell against the door with a huff, then immediately began to pound.

“Oi! Open up!” he screamed. “Got places to be, you sorry sods!”

“Hello, Spike.”

Spike whirled around with a snarl, aiming a vicious punch at the trench-coat wearing wanker that had popped in behind him. He stopped himself just before his fist could connect, demonstrating, in his opinion, that he was within fully bloody control. “Let me out,” he said in a low growl. “Not gonna tear the place apart. Not gonna start rippin’ out throats. Only bitch around here I’m killin’ is the Slayer, and I gotta find her first.”

Castiel gave a slow blink. “I don’t think my relaying this message will be to your benefit, but—”

“I’m going to bloody Hell, you thick git,” he snapped. “Gonna drag her back by her hair then thrash her within an inch of her unlife for pulling that stunt. So _let me out_, ‘less you fancy me startin’ with you.”

Castiel still looked uncertain. “I am unfamiliar with vampiric matings,” he said, “but I don’t believe killing Buffy is advisable in any regard. For one thing, Sam and Dean will be very displeased.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Not one much for hyperbole, are you?”

“I have been told I am not. Am I to understand then that you do not intend to kill Buffy Summers?”

“Oh, I’ll throttle her good, then I’ll fuck her into the ground, then I’ll do it all over again.” Spike jutted his chin toward the door. “Lemme out unless you want me to start with you.”

“Thank you, but I believe I do prefer my partners for carnal relations to be of the female persuasion. I do not find phalluses attractive.” Castiel sighed and regarded Spike with a long, skeptical look. “You truly intend to traverse into Hell to retrieve her.”

“That bloody bastard hasn’t brought her back yet, has he?”

“We have not heard from Crowley, no.”

“Well, ring the wanker up. If he hasn’t gotten a whiff of her yet, I’m goin’ in.” Spike swallowed, doing his best to hold back the instinctive urge to barrel his way through anyone standing between him and his mate. “I’ll take the bloody ring off. Get Zangy to keep an arrow on me. If I go off, he can put me down. More than earned it, he has. I can play nice. Won’t take a bite outta anyone, no matter how much they deserve it.”

Castiel was still a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “I will speak with Sam and Dean on the matter, but…I believe they will agree.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not asking for bloody permission. I’m going either way. Will open the sodding Hellmouth myself to do it if I gotta. Where there’s one way there’s another. I’ll drag my arse to SunnyD or Cleveland or any other of the hundreds of openings across the globe.” Spike arched his eyebrows and nodded at the door. “Tell those wankers _that_, yeah? And get Crowley on the bloody line.”

“I will return.”

Castiel popped out of the room the next beat, which was for the best because Spike felt his patience reach its end. Every second he wasted here was one separating him from the Slayer. And the longer they made him wait, the more strain they put on his grip on his demon.

And if he lost it completely, he’d lay waste to this bloody place and everyone who stood in his way.

*~*~*

There hadn’t been much time to bask in the afterglow before shit got real again. And as Faith stood in the main meeting room, having hastily dressed after Castiel knocked on their door, she couldn’t help the stab of guilt that twisted her insides. Because while she’d been having one of the best fucking moments of her life, B was somewhere in Hell and the man who loved her was had been going nuts.

Except he seemed a whole lot less nuts now and more composed, even calculating. A very irate, harried-looking Crowley had been summoned back at Spike’s request. The meeting was small and impromptu—Ro was still pouting off with Nick somewhere, and the witches and wizards were getting some shut-eye with the intent of resuming their search for Willow after they woke up. With the household otherwise emptied, that had left the summoning crew to Spike, Castiel, Dean, Sam, and Wright. Faith shuffled off to the corner, not trusting herself to keep from pummeling Crowley to a pulp on principle alone—both for what he’d convinced B to do and for what he’d said earlier.

After confirming there were no new leads on Buffy’s whereabouts, the so-called King of Hell very reluctantly agreed to take the mourning vampire back to Hell with him so he could look himself.

“If you think you can handle it, William,” he drawled in that mocking, just-looking-to-be-punched tone of his. “I’m not exactly running a health spa.”

“I can handle a little Hell,” Spike spat. “Far sight better than the Slayer could, especially considering any demon that takes a whiff of her will know she’s…” He broke off, his eyes misting. “Can’t sit around here and do rot while she might be in trouble. So yeah, I’m going.”

“You sure?” Dean asked, his arms crossed. “Sounds like a good way for you to get lost too. And what happens if Crowley finds Buffy before you do? Don’t exactly think telling her we misplaced her mate is the best way to throw her a welcome back party.”

Spike gave Dean one of those restrained-monster looks, the sort that said he’d have beaten the man senseless under any other circumstances. “The lot of you kept mum so she could do something stupid,” he snapped. “The Slayer’ll have no bloody room to talk if she makes it back before I do. And maybe you’re the sort who can stand still while the woman you love is missing, but that’s never been me. So yeah, I’m goin’ in. Like I told your pet angel, there’s nothin’ you can do to keep me grounded.”

“If she’s down there, he’ll find her,” Wright said solemnly. “Faster than Crowley, too.” He offered a flat smile. “Wish I could go with you, man. This is what we do best, right?”

Faith wouldn’t have thought it possible if she hadn’t seen it for herself—Spike barked a laugh. “Like old bloody times, Zangy.”

“You should wait,” Sam said, his voice a bit thick. “Tell Dawn… Tell Dawn what happened. If you’re both gone when she gets back, she’ll—”

“Learn to bloody live with it. Same as she’ll have to live with the piece she spouted off before Buffy made with the sodding heroics.” Spike paused then, his expression softening. “Countin’ on you, Winchester, to look out for her. Gonna be hard for her but she’ll need someone.”

Faith held her breath. Hell, she wasn’t all that tight with Spike, but she knew that was as close as he’d ever get to giving Sam his blessing. Especially after the whole panty incident. Sam seemed to recognize this too, for his eyes had gone wider than normal and he looked a little choked when he nodded.

“As bloody touching as all of this is,” Crowley drawled, “I do have a slayer to find. So, if you don’t mind…”

And was been that. Spike and Crowley had vanished.

“Well, this just keeps getting better and better,” Dean muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “’Cause you know B’ll kick all our asses if we lose her vamp between now and when she gets back.”

“There was no way you could’ve kept him here,” Wright replied with a soft smile. “Believe me. The only reason he waited as long as he did when it was Wolfram and Hart was he knew acting rashly would kill her. If the witches hadn’t knocked him out when Crowley was here last, he would’ve gone then.”

“Man’s willing to go to Hell for her,” Dean said, and glanced quickly at Faith before looking away again. “That’s love.”

“That is only the tip of the fucking iceberg where those two are concerned,” Wright said. Then he released a long breath. “Rosalie’s gonna be pissed. Well, _more _pissed.”

“You know, Z, I could honestly give a shit,” Faith replied, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on one of the chairs that surrounded the meeting table. “Girl has a whole houseful of people who are willing to die for her. Boo fucking hoo.”

“It’s not me you need to convince,” Wright replied. “Trust me, I’m right there with you.” He paused, swallowed. “Though we’re going to need her, I think, to help restrain Kelly when they get here.”

“We really think Kelly will react that badly?” Sam asked. “I mean…when she’s here? When we can talk to her…face-to-face?”

Then, like the universe had been waiting for the question, the sound of an approaching vehicle had broken through the strained silence. The first party had arrived home.

“It’s Dawn,” Castiel said before anyone could check. “Her signature is muted but unmistakable.”

And wouldn’t it be Dawn before it was anyone else? That seemed about right. Faith steeled herself and glanced at Sam, who was staring at the space where Spike and the King of Hell had been a moment earlier as though in some sort of trance.

“Zack,” Faith said, but Wright was already moving toward the bedrooms.

This was not going to go well.

A handful of seconds blew by, then Dawn exploded into the room, frantic and worried. The girl looked like she’d lost ten pounds since leaving, her eyes hollowed out and her cheeks red. She glanced around the room, not seeming to really see anyone, a somewhat manic look on her face.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice shaking. “We’re not too late, are we? Where is everyone? Why aren’t weapons drawn?” She paused and gave the room another look, swallowed. “Where’s Buffy?”

“Where’s Kelly?” Dean asked instead, moving to stand close to Faith.

“She wanted to call the kids before the big fight,” she said. “We didn’t stop on the way back—the second we got your phone call, we turned it around. I told her to floor it until we were home.” She shook her head, her eyes seeming to clear a bit, and she looked now to Sam. “Where is my sister? What’s going on?”

But she knew—Faith saw that as clearly as she’d seen the determination on B’s face before she’d taken that dive. Dawn wasn’t in fight-mode, she was in shock. Or something close to it. There were tears in her eyes, the sort born of loss rather than fear. She knew.

“Dawnie…” Sam worked his throat. “Something…something happened while you were gone. I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Where is Buffy?” Her voice pitched an octave higher. “The Hellmouth opened, didn’t it? Where is my sister?”

“She stopped it,” Sam said, reaching for her wrist. “She stopped the Hellmouth from opening. And she’s alive—that’s the important thing. She’s not here, but she’s alive. Spike’s gone to find her.”

This seemed to hit Dawn like a physical blow. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she barked a hard sob, still looking around the room as though willing her eyes to find proof that Sam was lying or mistaken. That Buffy was just fine, just waiting to be spotted so she could give her sister grief for caring that much.

But that’s not what happened, because Buffy wasn’t here. Instead, Dawn’s gaze fell on Faith, and something dark shifted there.

Faith knew what was coming likely before Dawn took the first step. One second, the grieving girl was across the room; the next, she was in front of her, shaking with rage, and hot pain exploded across Faith’s face, chased by the ringing sound of the girl’s palm hitting her cheek. She felt Dean tense beside her, felt him pull back as though to repay her in kind, but also felt him restrain himself before she could do so much as twitch.

Dawn stared at her in defiance, eyes blazing hatred, her cheeks wet and her lower lip trembling.

Faith swallowed thickly. “Kid,” she said, “I know exactly how you feel.”

There was nothing for a moment. Dawn regarded her with a mixture of disgust and confusion. And it was over the next second. A strangled sound erupted off her lips, and the next thing Faith knew, Dawn was in her arms, sobbing hard and clutching at her like she was the thing tethering her to this world. It was so familiar Faith almost lost her footing—familiar, yet she’d never been on this side.

A thousand years ago, Angel had held her as she’d let go of all her demons. But Angel was gone now, long gone, and Dawn was the one breaking.

Faith looked over the girl’s shoulder, met Sam’s bewildered gaze, and found herself offering him a ‘I got nothing’ smile as a lack of knowing what else to do.

“I know,” she said again, hugging her close when Dawn’s sobs came harder. “I know. Big sis is one stubborn-ass bitch.”

“Fuck her,” Dawn cried into her hair. “Fuck her.”

“We’ll take turns kicking her righteous ass when she gets back, okay?”

“Deal.”

But still, Dawn didn’t pull away or stop crying. And Faith could do nothing but hold on as she rode the waves.


	67. Chapter 67

She knew what she was doing—at least that was what she told herself—as she stormed away from the group. Rosalie highly doubted her absence had gone noticed by anyone sans Nick. He just wordlessly followed her back to their room like she still needed to be contained.

The anger and bitterness was easier to focus on than the grief. Here she was again staring down at the loss of someone close to her—she didn’t know how many more she could face—and once again she was the stupid girl who had to be held back.

First Faith and now Buffy. Twice she’d been kept in the dark. Twice she hadn’t been trusted. Maybe she would have agreed with Buffy had she only _talked_ to her—she didn’t know and never would have the answer.

It pissed her off that her dad and Faith had held her back, even if it didn’t surprise her. Everyone else just made her angry. She might be the youngest, but she had well over a decade of experience under her belt.

Nick stood there and watched her for several minutes as she sat in the bed and fumed. Then, he walked over to the sink that seemed to be in every bedroom and filled a glass with water. He chugged one and then refilled it and walked over to his nightstand, pulling out a bottle of Excedrin and moving in front of her with both outstretched.

The gesture merely fueled her rage and she slapped the bottle from his hand, noting the rattle that came as it rolled across the floor. For a second she saw Nick make a move that looked as though he was going to throw the water in her face, but instead he slammed the glass down on the table with a force that made a portion slosh out onto the wood. Then, he picked up the bottle of pills and did the same angry gesture.

She half-expected him to leave after that, but he obviously didn’t trust her and sat down next to her instead. That actually hurt more than pissed her off, but she focused on the anger now. “There’s literally no fucking reason for you to keep guarding me now,” she snapped. “It’s fucking closed.”

“I’m not _guarding _you,” Nick huffed. “I was attempting to be supportive.”

“Supportive?” she balked. “Supportive was going behind my back? Supportive was letting them knock me out? Supportive how, exactly?”

“I understand you’re upset, Rose,” he said in a tone that said he was growing impatient with her. “It wasn’t how I wanted any of this play out, but I don’t regret it for a second.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, standing to move away from him. “Fuck them all, but fuck you most. I’m sick and tired of everyone acting like I’m some child that needs protection.”

“Child?” He stood up and whirled to face her. “You think I look at you like a fucking _child_?” he growled. “Are you bloody delusional? Do you think I see you as a child? Kiss you? Touch you? Fucking make love to you as a _child_?”

Yeah, that maybe made this a little awkward. They made jokes about him robbing the cradle, but he wasn’t a pedophile—they were closer in age than most of the couples around them. “You _protect_ me like a child. Like I’m not capable—”

“Sod off, Wright,” he cut in, giving her an eye roll. “You daft bint, I don’t do it because of anything other than I bloody love your bleeding arse! Guess what? I’m never gonna sit by and let you sacrifice yourself no matter the cost.” He gestured toward the door. “You think I could _survive_ the torture Spike is enduring this very second? We both know I’m not that strong—I’d fucking _die_, Rose.”

Well, that doused some of her fire, but not all. “You kept it a secret.”

“Damn right!” he all but shouted. “Because I fucking _know _how much you want to prove yourself to everyone else. But guess what? You don’t have shit to prove to me.”

She felt angry tears well in her eyes. “Really? Because where I’m standing nobody thinks I can do shit around here but stand around and not die.”

“And where _I’m _standing, you’re an ungrateful little bitch.”

Rosalie’s eyes went wide as his words slapped her in the face. She opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a small sob.

Nick shook his head and gave a shaky sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that and I’m sorry. I only meant that you have a whole family of people who love you—parents, aunts, uncles, friends, watchers, me. While you see them holding you back, I just see love and support I never had.” He looked down and swallowed. “I got you—Faith on the one occasion she was ever nice to me—and you. That’s it.” He looked up at her. “And you’re all I need. So sorry that I’m going to hold on to you as tight as I can.”

She was still angry and bitter, but he was no longer her target. Deep down she knew he never had been, but he’d been the only one who seemed to take her at her worst and never back down. She really didn’t deserve him to love her so much. “I’m sorry,” she choked.

“No, love, I am.” With that he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her.

They stood there for what felt ages as they just held one another. Grief overcame her—for Buffy and Spike and everyone. Then, a guilty pang of relief hit her as she realized that now it was over. The Hellmouth was closed and she wasn’t on the wrong side. Buffy might not have worked and Lucifer had been looking to take Faith. A part of her wondered if it would have come down to her in the end.

She felt dirty finding comfort in being alive. They said Buffy had survived the fall, but that was no guarantee she would make it out of Hell. Like everything in her life, the good was always shadowed with bad.

When she finally pulled back and looked at Nick, she saw the same guilty look in his eyes. She gently pulled his head down and gave him a soft kiss for comfort. She had no other intentions until their lips connected. Then, a different need overtook her.

She felt him harden against her and suddenly nothing mattered but the fact that they had survived—they still had each other. And she needed to feel that now.

Sex with Nick was good. She didn’t have anything to compare it to, but what he lacked in what Faith had described as his inability to handle the slayer muscles, he more than made up with in other ways. He did things with his hands and tongue that she’d only read and watched on porn sites.

Her favorite part was still when he was inside her—feeling him come inside her. Right now that was what she needed to feel. Thankfully, he didn’t protest when tossed him down on the bed after they stripped naked. Lining him up, she sank down and relished in how perfectly they fit together.

They always came quickly like this and within a few minutes, her muscles were spasming as he gasped her name and filled her with his warmth. Gasping, they laid there holding one another and basking in the afterglow.

Nick got off on pleasuring her in a way she couldn’t help but enjoy. Who honestly would turn down a guy who liked giving out multiple orgasms? She didn’t fight as he rolled her off him and begin teasing her sensitive, slick flesh with his hand.

It was a slower climb the second time, but as his fingers plunged in and out of her drenched pussy—his palm pressing against her clit with every thrust—she came again. He covered her lips as she muffled her scream into his mouth.

Not seconds afterward, there was a knock on the door. Nick gave her a mollified look as his fingers were still buried inside her. “Yes?” he said hesitantly toward the door.

There was an awkward silence. “Kelly’s here.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Her dad. Please God, she hoped he hadn’t just heard her. Of anyone in the entire world, why had her _dad _been the one outside her door?

“Ugh…” She heard him from the hall. “We, umm, need you to help restrain her if she loses control.”

Nick slowly removed his hand with a boyish look as though he’d been caught eating cookies before dinner. “Yes, sir,” he called out.

“Fucking kill me,” her dad pleaded before she assumed he walked away.

“He heard me, didn’t he?” she whispered as she hopped up and started pulling her clothes on.

“More importantly,” Nick said as he did the same, “please don’t let him punch me again.”

“He knocked me out with a crossbow, honey. Good fucking luck.”

*~*~*

Sam was still watching Dawnie when Kelly entered the room—he was fighting the urge to go console his girlfriend as she wept in Faith’s arms. He hadn’t even heard the vampire’s arrival until a low growl sounded from behind him.

“_No_,” she snarled in a voice he’d never heard from the woman.

But as he looked at her, he realized she was no longer a woman. Her face had shifted into its monster form and there was a terrifying glow to her eyes. His skin crawled with goosebumps as he surveyed the situation. “Kelly?” he asked slowly.

Her eyes flashed as she looked at him. “Rosalie?” Her snarl was equal parts hopeful and desolate.

Sam swallowed and looked from her to Dean. This wasn’t going to go well in the slightest. “No,” he said in a strangled whisper.

Kelly’s eyes turned to Faith and she flew across the room before anyone had a chance to shout. Dawn went flying as Kelly grasped her and threw her aside and she tackled Faith and had her pinned to the ground.

Sam tore to Dawn as she lay crumpled on the floor, a gash from where her head had cracked a table. In his periphery, he saw Dean lunge atop Kelly and begin working to pull her away from Faith.

There was a shout as Wright entered the room and he too ran over to the fight. Kelly had paused only long enough to toss Dean and then Wright before making a lunge to Faith’s throat.

Rosalie grasped Kelly with a strength neither man had and pulled her back enough that Faith was able to crawl free and pull herself up, a hand grasping at what looked to be a bite to her throat. Rosalie used her small body to leverage Kelly into a flip over her as she bent over backward. Then she twisted and leaped upon the vampire and pinned her to the ground.

“Stop it!” Rosalie snarled as she fought to keep her down.

Kelly was beyond reason as she locked her legs around the Slayer and managed to overpower Rosalie. The problem was that while Kelly was looking for blood, the Slayer was trying to hold back from hurting her aunt.

Sam heard the click and looked to Dean just as he pulled the trigger—firing right into Kelly’s back first once and then a second time. Sam prayed his brother had enough control to not have aimed for the heart.

There was an eerie silence that followed the blasts. For a few moments nobody moved or breathed as Kelly laid motionless upon Rosalie. Then, as the Slayer pushed her off and scrambled to her feet, Kelly released a guttural sound that reminded him of Spike earlier.

Then she was up and running before anyone could think of stopping her. Rosalie and Faith stood motionless, looking at one another in a silent message the read neither one were going to chase her.

“_Cas!_” Dean bellowed as he ran over to Faith.

“I’m fine, D,” she rasped.

“Shut up,” he snapped, slipping the gun back into the waistband of his jeans. He pried her hand back and looked at the bite. “Son of a bitch,” he swore softly before looking over to Sam. “How’s she?” He nodded at Dawn.

Dawn gave off a pitiful whimper as she blinked up at Sam. He didn’t know how much of the pain was physical and how much was from the knowledge her sister was in Hell. “Cas,” he said in agreement with his brother.

The angel appeared and quickly repaired the wounds to both women. Rosalie was scratched up but insisted on not being treated.

“Call your brother,” Dean warned in a dangerous tone as he looked over to Wright. “Because if she hurts anyone else before he calms her down, so help me, I will kill her.”

“Dean,” Sam pleaded.

“Call him!” Dean demanded before stalking off toward the garage.

Wright gave Sam a look as he pulled out his phone. Sam gave him a nod before looking at Faith and Rosalie. “At least try and stop _him_.”

The women exchanged a look before giving him a solemn nod and going off after Dean. Sam looked down at Dawn and braced himself for the longest night of his life.

*~*~*

Zack was numb. Somehow after everything he’d endured, he reached a moment where life had truly and completely broken his brain.

Buffy was in Hell. Spike was in Hell. Kelly was…

While he heard everything Wright was saying, his brain just wasn’t processing it. His demon screamed out, but even it seemed almost paralyzed in shock.

He slammed the brakes and dropped the phone.

“Zack!” Cordy shouted, but he switched it to park and tore out of the car.

They were five minutes from the bunker. He could find her—track her by her scent and the blood on her hands. She’d attacked Faith. She had slayer blood on her lips. He began running as he let his fangs descend and his demon take control.

Kelly. Finding Kelly was his only thought—he couldn’t focus on the rest. Not yet.

When her scent carried across the breeze, he knew at once where she’d gone. As fast as he’d ever sprinted, he ran toward the cemetery. She was there and she wasn’t alone.

He found her and watched as she flew around in a demonic rage. Faith’s blood had been a beacon to what seemed a small army of vampires and demons—more than a dozen were coming forward with a desire to taste the slayer on Kelly’s skin. Kelly ripped and clawed and bit and kicked at anything and everything that came close enough to attack.

Zack dashed into the fray and began to fight his way to his wife. Kelly didn’t even acknowledge his presence as she continued her rampage. Gone was that sweet girl from Bayside—in this moment she was pure vampire.

Fear hit him as he saw more monsters emerge from the darkness. This was growing into a mob. He wasn’t sure he could pull her back without one or both of them getting hurt.

Shots rang out and he jumped in a panic until he caught the scents—Faith and Rosalie were here along with Dean. Relief hit him as he realized it was Winchester who would be the one with the firearm.

The slayers drew most of the focus off of Kelly, which helped even the odds. He’d caught a whiff of Kelly’s injury and began to see her body begin to suffer the effects of the blood loss. When she stumbled, he snapped the neck of the last demon on her and scooped her off the ground. “Kelly!” he screamed as he shook her.

She roared and fought and tried to break his grasp, but he had control—even on her best day he simply had more muscle to utilize. Right now she was losing strength as she bled. He felt the wetness on her back and pressed against the wounds. He stilled. “Gunshots?”

He didn’t know when he spoke, but that was the trigger than brought his Kelly back. She cried out and dissolved into a sobbing wreck there in his arms. “Zack,” she whimpered.

“Shhh,” he said as held her tighter. There was still shit going down in the background, but all the focus had turned to the two slayers taking them down.

Two.

Because the third one was in Hell.

Zack began to tremble as reality started sinking in.

“Zack, I hurt them,” she moaned. “I _hurt_—”

“It doesn’t matter.” And in that moment he was ashamed to say he really didn’t care. Maybe it was the demon overpowering the man—his instincts took over. “Come on,” he said, tugging her away from the fight.

“Zack—”

“Let’s go,” he cut off, starting to drag her away. He felt his composure slipping away as his own control was starting to break. They needed to get away from all of this—everyone—for a moment.

Maybe when their demons had a chance to process, they could come and seek forgiveness. Right now, it just didn’t matter. Walking off into the night, he swore he was going to kick Spike’s ass—even if he had to go to Hell to do it.

*~*~*

“You’ve got to fucking be kidding me,” Dean snarled as Rosalie dusted the last dumbass vampire. They were standing in the middle of a circle of dead bodies and vampsoot. “They fucking just _left_ after we showed up and saved their fucking asses?”

“Better than having to fight them too,” Rosalie breathlessly replied as she wiped her face with her shirt.

“Agreed,” Faith said with a steely nod, still scanning the perimeter for any other trouble.

All three of them were a mess—they all had blood and guts covering them along with a fair share of cuts and bruises. Luckily nobody had sustained any bite marks, so Dean was all in all just relieved. He released a small chuckle when he realized his girlfriend getting beat up really didn’t bother him.

“What?” Faith said, giving him a sideways glance.

“Most dudes would freak out about their girl getting roughed up in a fight. I’m just happy mine hits harder than me and covered my ass when that vamp pinned me down.” With a smirk, he winked at her.

He saw her shoulders finally relax a little and she gave him an eye roll. “Seriously, how did you live this long before you met me?”

“I didn’t. Remember, baby?” He turned to Rosalie. “You good, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” she drawled sarcastically. “Thanks for not knocking me out this time, guys. Appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Dean sucked in a breath as he caught the anger that flashed in Faith’s eyes. He took a step back as he saw it coming before Faith whirled and kicked Rosalie right in that nasty spot behind the knee. The girl buckled and hit the ground before she had a chance to react.

“There,” Faith spat. “That make ya feel better?”

“Fuck you,” Rosalie snapped as she leaped up to her feet, instantly bringing herself up in a striking position.

“Save the fucking teenage melodrama, Ro,” Faith warned. “I ain’t in the mood.”

“Of course not,” she fired back. “You wouldn’t understand because you were _there_. Once again Rosalie wasn’t _good_ enough to be the Slayer. Can’t be _trusted_ to make any calls.”

“Look,” Dean said, sticking his neck out to diffuse the situation. “Buffy made the call and I can tell you both I damn well fought it. We all did. Truth was _none_ of us expected it go down like that. We got Buffy to agree to let us gank Willow if she broke in.” He sighed. “Buffy broke down in tears. _That’s _why Spike smelled she’d been crying on me, okay? She didn’t want to let us hurt Willow, but she knew it was the only way we’d go along with her plan.” He gave them both a hard look. “So yeah, you two wanna be pissed, go right ahead. Pretty sure we all are. But Cas and Spike and Crowley all say she’s alive and that’s more than either of you could have done and you damn well know it. So stop with the guilt and stop with the bullshit. Hopefully, they’re already back at the bunker and we can get back to stopping the fucking witch before she starts on another of Lucifer’s fucking schemes.”

For a brief minute, he thought he was going to be murdered by two very scary girls. They both had that crazy chick look in their eyes that said he was in major danger of an ass-kicking. Rosalie broke first and bent down and picked up her stake before tearing off toward the car. Faith continued to glare, but he watched as her anger faded to more annoyance.

“Don’t lecture me.”

He cocked his head. “You prefer a spanking?” he teased.

“Oh, you’re getting no spanking tonight, Mr. Winchester,” she told him before she finally started moving toward the car.

“Well, we both do need a shower,” he said, unable to keep from sliding in a little innuendo.

She turned and walked up to him, pressing her body up against his and leaning in so close that he could feel her breath on his lips. “Wash your own rubber ducky.” Just as he thought she’d give him a kiss, she pulled back and marched off to the car.

“Oh, come on!” he called after her.

She didn’t turn around but paused to hold up and jingle a set of keys in her hand. Slapping his pockets, he realized the bitch had just pickpocketed him on top of it all.

“Son of a bitch, Fay,” he grumbled as he stalked off after her. “Now you’re just being a dick.”

But he loved her and maybe someday she could learn to love him back. That kinda made everything else in life take on a whole different light. After everything that had happened today, he was still looking forward to tomorrow. After today he was still optimistic.

Plus he was seventy-five percent sure he’d still get laid tonight.


	68. Chapter 68

Truth was, Dawn barely felt the pain. She knew her head was split open and hadn’t stopped bleeding—because, well, head wound—and while the pain was definitely there, it was buried under so much other shit she couldn’t begin to process.

Buffy was gone. Again. And Spike had gone after her. Again.

The first time this had happened, she’d been too young to really appreciate the danger her sister was in. Hell, she’d grown up with Buffy going from one scrape to the next. There had been that three-month period where her sister had fled to Los Angeles after killing Angel during which Dawn had been all but certain she’d never see Buffy again. Giles had been over almost daily, attempting to educate Joyce on what Buffy’s Calling meant, what had happened over the course of the last year, and the secret life she’d been living. Those days had seemed to stretch for centuries; every time the phone rang, Joyce would leap and there’d be that rush of excitement, of anticipation, of hoping…

Yeah, Dawn had been certain Buffy would never come home, either because she’d run off for good or because she’d met her end in some dark alley somewhere. But then the summer had ended, and Buffy had returned. Just shown up one day on the Summers’ doorstep, and everything had more or less gone back to normal.

From that point on, Dawn had learned to not worry when Buffy pulled her disappearing acts. It was just a part of life. Even when Darla and Drusilla had rolled into town two years later, snatched her up and taken her to Los Angeles, Dawn hadn’t really let herself feel her fear. Yes, she’d known on a purely intellectual level that the situation was different—dire, even—and she’d been plenty scared, but she’d also been able to see a tomorrow where Buffy returned. After all, Spike had been on the case, and even though that had been before they’d been together, anyone with eyes could have seen that the vamp was nuts for her sister. Dawn had never really doubted, even on the bad days, that Spike would do whatever he had to in order to get Buffy to safety.

But, as Spike had pointed out in the scathing phone message he’d left, Dawn had never known what Buffy had gone through then. All she’d known was her sister had disappeared as a human and returned as a vampire. Bad things had happened—yeah, Dawn had imagined that rape had been part of the ordeal, just because Angelus had been involved—but to hear it in such stark terms put that entire period of her life into a light she hadn’t even known was there. That Buffy had asked Spike, _Spike_, to not hurt her too much as he took his turn…

Yeah, had fourteen-year-old Dawn known that, she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Twenty-five year old Dawn barely knew how to handle it. Especially with the way she’d left things. The awful things she’d said that, in the heat of the moment, had felt right. Good, even. Justified. But Spike had been right—there were things she hadn’t known, hadn’t considered, and honestly hadn’t wanted to know or consider because it would mean reframing her righteous indignation.

Sam closed the door to her room, an icepack in one hand and a first-aid kit in the other. He hadn’t said much since Faith, Rosalie, and Dean had taken off after Kelly, rather exploded into action. Guiding her to her bedroom before disappearing to put together the after-hunt care package, complete with bandages, rubbing alcohol, and aspirin. He approached her the way he would a wounded animal, which she tried not to find annoying. Her little outburst earlier had put him on edge, and hell, it wasn’t like she didn’t get it. Of everyone she could have sought comfort from, Faith was the least likely candidate. But something had happened in the space between the rage that had consumed her at seeing Faith standing there, healthy and breathing when Buffy was in Hell, and Faith’s blasé acceptance of Dawn’s outburst. Something in her had snapped and all the anger and resentment had broken. She just didn’t feel it anymore.

Though at the moment, she felt a bit toward Sam.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Sam stilled from where he had been wetting a washcloth. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You knew about Buffy taking the dive, didn’t you? This isn’t the sort of thing she’d just decide to do. It was…planned.”

Sam swallowed, then continued toward her, the answer on his face. “Crowley came to Buffy. Told her she was the best candidate for closing the Hellmouth because of her vampire blood.”

“Crowley. You mean the creep who keeps perving on me and has some fetish for power. That Crowley.”

“Look, Crowley is… It’s complicated. He’s no fan of Lucifer’s, though, and it made a kind of sense. He said he could bring her back.” Sam paused and started dabbing the cloth across her skin. It came back splotched with reddish brown. “Cas backed him up, which was really it for me and Dean. Crowley is definitely a self-serving son of a bitch and yeah, he always has an agenda, so Cas saying he believed Crowley was on the level in this theory made it our best option if we didn’t come up with anything else.”

“So who all is _we _in this scenario? You, Dean, Faith—”

“Faith didn’t know. Neither did Rosalie. The second…” Sam looked away briefly. “There was no fight, Dawnie. We thought Lucifer and Willow would burst in, that we’d have time to take her out if need be before she got to the Hellmouth. Buffy had even agreed to let us do that—kill her—if it came down to it. And I know you know what that meant for her. Buffy came to me, Dean, Wright, and Nick with this. She knew Spike would lose his shit, and he did but hell, he kept it together better than I thought he would. She also knew Rose and Faith would fight her on it. Or maybe she just thought they might and didn’t want to give them the chance.”

“That’s more likely,” Dawn said bitterly. “Buffy doesn’t always explain her plans to people—doesn’t give them a chance to talk her out of it or go another way. Which meant she wasn’t a hundred percent on this plan—she thought there was a chance someone could talk her out of it, but she didn’t give anyone who might have stood a chance the opportunity to do that. Why else not tell Spike?”

“She was afraid he’d jump in after her. And if it didn’t go well—”

“Then he’d die. Well, he went to Hell anyway. Good plan, Buff.” The second the words were out, Dawn burst into tears, that swell of emotion in her chest reaching its peak again. Sam tossed the washcloth aside and drew her into his chest, letting her cling to him, and for that she was grateful. For the warmth under her skin, the smell of him in her nostrils, the reassuring beat of his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m so sorry. None of us wanted it to go like that.”

“I know.” A pause. “Before I left, Buffy… I said some things to her. Some really bad things.”

Sam tightened his arms around her. “Yeah, I…kinda got that. Not what was said but that things _were _said.”

“I accused her of only wanting to be my sister when it was convenient for her. Going off and making her own little vamp family and sending me away. Out of sight, out of mind, you know.” Another wave of tears surged forward. “I felt like that for a long time. The kid sis she didn’t want, that she only thought of when it was convenient. She shipped me off, first to private school then to college so she didn’t have to have me messing up her new life. And then she disappeared for years at a time, not checking in, not visiting—I hadn’t seen her in almost two years before your mom brought me home. But suddenly she’s acting like my surrogate parent and lecturing me on things she has no right to. Treating Faith like the sister she never had.” Trembling, Dawn reached into her pocket and pulled out the phone, partly hoping she’d find it smashed so she wouldn’t have to do this. But it wasn’t, of course, because the universe was only so kind. She brought up her voicemail and hit _play_.

_“You have a lot of bloody nerve, you ungrateful little twig,”_ Spike snarled through the speaker. _“Always told Big Sis it was a sodding mistake to keep you in the dark about what all she went through, but she thought it was for the best. Sparin’ you and the others so you wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t have to have the image seared onto your eyeballs the way I do. Well buckle up, ‘cause Spike’s about to share.”_

And he did. Over the next three minutes, Spike’s voice filled the otherwise stillness of the room, going into terrible, graphic detail over everything Buffy had never told her. Dawn watched Sam’s face impassively, tried not to wince when he winced or react when his eyes widened. Like everyone else, the Winchesters had been given the Cliff’s Notes version of Spike and Buffy’s history and relationship. They knew they’d been enemies until the chip, then Buffy had been abducted and Spike had gotten her back. And yes, he was a vamp with two slayers under his belt, but the whole history had been too complicated to get in to. She tried to imagine hearing all this without knowing Buffy and Spike as she did and wondered how it might sound. How _she _might look to Sam now—ungrateful, as Spike had said. Childish, immature, self-involved.

_“Slayer loves you, Bit,”_ Spike said toward the end of the message. _“We both do. Reckon you’ll never know how much, what she’s done for you. But I bloody swear it, you shoot off at her again, make her cry again, and I’ll rip out your spine.”_

Dawn worked her throat and ended the call. “So the last memory Buffy has of me,” she said softly, “is me telling her that she only cared when it was convenient. I didn’t think about everything else… God, she never acted like it was anything. Trying to protect me, like Spike said.” Tears blurred her vision all over again. “Now they’re both gone. Both of them. I might never see either of them again and that’s their last memory of me?”

“Dawnie…” Sam tugged her to him again, burying his face in her hair. “That won’t be the last. I swear it. She’s alive. She survived the fall—we know that. And if I know your brother-in-law, he won’t rest until she’s found.”

“No, he won’t,” Dawn agreed thickly. “But…she’s the Slayer, Sam. And she’s in Hell. How many demons did she put there who are just waiting for a piece of her? If Spike doesn’t find her first…if…”

Sam tightened his arms around her. “Not saying not to worry about it,” he said a moment later, his voice even and measured, “because I know you can’t _not _worry about it. Buffy can handle herself, as you know. And when it’s Dean, I know _he _can handle himself, with or without a sacred calling…but you’re going to worry. But if anyone could survive Hell, it’s your sister. And I don’t want to be whoever stands in Spike’s way to find her. And with Crowley looking for her too…” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “I have faith in Buffy and in Spike. They’re… Well, I don’t want to say soulmates because it’s cheesy as hell, plus he doesn’t even have a soul, but—”

“No, they are,” Dawn said with a hard laugh. “If those things exist, then yeah, they’re it.”

Sam offered a small smile. “Then he’ll find her. Or she’ll find him. Either way, they’ll find each other, and they’ll come back, and you’ll have the chance to…to talk with them about all of this.” He straightened, his gaze roaming to the wound on her head, which she felt was still trickling blood. “So let’s get you less banged up before then, huh? Spike asked me to watch out for you and—”

“He did?”

“Yeah.” Another smile, this one accompanied by a laugh. “Shocked the hell out of me too. I guess that means he forgives me for the whole…” He gestured vaguely toward her crotch, which Dawn tried and failed to not find somewhat adorable. “Or at least he knows how much I care about you.”

“Even after learning I’m the worst sister in the history of siblings?”

The tender look that fell across Sam’s face was one she so didn’t deserve—it filled all the cold, scared places inside of her with warmth that was almost unbearable. At the moment, Dawn wanted to rage or be raged at. She didn’t want anyone understanding her, being nice to her, forgiving her for being a little shit. That was the reason she’d slapped Faith earlier—she’d known it would make the other slayer respond in kind. Only that had hadn’t happened. Even with all the crap she’d thrown at Faith, the most she’d gotten back was an insult lugged right after she’d verbally assaulted Dean.

She didn’t deserve this. She deserved anger. She deserved more of the message Spike had left her. She deserved to hurt.

A knock came at the door, jarring her from her thoughts. And before she could think it through, she called out, “Come in.”

The door cracked open and a bloody, battered Faith poked her head in. “Hey, kid, I just…” She stopped shortly when she saw Sam there, was quiet a moment, then swallowed and looked back to Dawn. “Thought I’d see how you were.”

Fuck. More of Faith being nice when she didn’t deserve it. Dawn sniffed, unable to keep more tears from spilling down her cheeks. “Better than you, it looks like.”

“Did you find Kelly?” Sam asked.

“Bitch took off.” This came from Dean, who kicked the door open enough so that they were both standing in the doorway. “Zack showed up and they lit out. Every vamp demon in the fuckin’ county was out there tonight, it seemed.”

“It was Kelly,” Faith said without turning to him. “Took off with a mouthful of my blood. Slayer blood’s the shit.”

Dawn offered a wan smile. “Trust me. You preacher, me choir. I’m pretty sure Spike has written literal sonnets about how good Buffy’s blood tastes.”

Faith wrinkled her nose. “Things I never needed to know.”

“Hey, if I have to have that mental image, you do too.”

Sam cleared his throat. “How’s Rosalie? She went too, didn’t she?”

Faith sucked in her cheeks, annoyance flashing across her face. “Yeah, Watcher boy. Girl has a chip on her shoulder the size of the Chrysler Building, too. So have fun with that.”

“Maybe didn’t help that you kicked her,” Dean muttered.

Faith rolled her eyes. “She’s lucky I didn’t do more than that.” She looked back to Sam. “Turns out Ro’s sour because no one wants her dead. If she starts going off on me about that shit again, I might actually fucking hurt her.” She snorted. “This kid wins the fucking lottery and all she does is mope about it. Got her a family who understands, a fella who’s in the life and two”—she cut herself off, pain and anger flashing across her face—“a big sis surrogate who happens to know how this shit feels. Literally more than any slayer in history has ever had and she has the fucking gall to whine about it.”

Dawn barked a laugh she hadn’t seen coming, then again when Sam, Dean, and Faith all blinked at her in response. “I’m sorry,” she said into her hand. Then she laughed again. “No, I’m not. Can’t you just hear Buffy’s lecture on this?”

At that, Faith snickered. “Fuck me.”

“It’d be the sort you’d need to pack a snack to get through,” Dawn said, laughing harder. “You know, protein-up as she gets going.”

“She doesn’t even need to stop for air anymore,” Faith added. “Damn.”

“Oh, have you not had a post-vampage Buffy lecture?”

“Not one of her barn-burners, no.”

“Lucky bitch.”

They cracked up at the same time, and the bewildered looks on the Winchesters’ face just made everything funnier. Dawn hugged her stomach and toppled into Sam’s arms, cackling. And for a moment, she released her pain and her guilt and the dread of what might come tomorrow.

It was the first genuinely nice moment she could remember having with Faith.

And dammit, right now, that meant the world.

*~*~*

Everything hurt.

Buffy wasn’t used to feeling pain like this—not anymore, at least. The last time she’d felt anything like this had been when Zack lost his soul and decided to revisit Angelus’s greatest hits. He’d taken the ring off and done his part to find creative ways of making her bleed. But even then, the physical sensation hadn’t broached what she’d been through the first time. With Zack, she’d been a vampire—stronger and more resilient, and he’d lacked imagination. The entire set-up had been a redux of Angelus, after all, and she’d known he wouldn’t kill her. Not until Spike saw her—not until he could make it really hurt. And she’d known, as he hadn’t known, that if Spike got close enough to see her, it would be too late for Zack.

Now, though… This was pain of a different color. Her skin felt like little more than a thin stretch of webbing, her throat raw and dry, and a terrible, gnawing hunger pawed at her insides. Like it had been centuries since she’d last had a drop of blood. She didn’t want to open her eyes—didn’t want to see how badly she looked on top of everything else—but she knew she needed to. She needed to see the damage, and she needed to find her way to some blood. She needed to know how long it would take her to heal once she got home.

“Open up, darling,” said a vaguely familiar voice. And had the warm, delicious scent of blood not hit her nostrils, she would have been all too happy to ignore it. As it was, her fangs sliced into her mouth, sending a sharp, shooting pain through jaw that echoed hard against her head. But then the best tasting stuff in the world hit her tongue and the pain became secondary. “That’s a girl.”

Buffy mewled and reached up to seize the wrist attached to the hand currently feeding her. In seconds, the blood was gone and her demon screamed its complaint before another helping of blood touched her lips. Every swallow seemed to heal something that hurt. New energy filled her veins, fortifying her muscles and easing the all-consuming ache that had carved out her insides. At one point in her life, she would have dismissed the healing power of blood as something almost entirely psychosomatic. Food and rest worked for everyone, after all; vampires weren’t special.

Yeah, she’d been an idiot.

“Can you open your pretty eyes for me, dove?”

Buffy found that she could. It took a few seconds for the colors and shapes swimming in her vision to solidify, but then she saw him. Crowley perched over her, smiling down at her, another large helping of blood in his hands.

“You’re already looking miles better than you did before,” he told her. “That slayer metabolism of yours is a work of art.”

Buffy parted her lips to speak, but her voice wouldn’t come.

“What was that?”

She tried again. This time, a raspy sound scratched at her throat. She swallowed, which she immediately regretted, and managed a hoarse, “Hell…mouth?”

“Oh, the Hellmouth is closed.” Crowley spoke as though this much was a given. “It opened for maybe ninety seconds, all told. Your blood did the trick, as I suspected it would. Congratulations, Ms. Summers. One more apocalypse in the bag.”

Relief washed over her, providing almost the same energy boost as the blood. She took in her surroundings—an elegant office with rich, crimson walls, elaborate draperies, mahogany furniture, and she was stretched across what looked to be an antique fainting couch. A bit more opulent than anything she’d found in the bunker.

The question must have been in her eyes, for the next second, Crowley was speaking again.

“Welcome to my private office,” he said with a polite smile. “A privilege I do not extend to many, so count yourself fortunate. I keep all my prized possessions in here.” He gestured to the bookshelf. “I am particularly fond of my soul collection. Pope Pius VII was the crowning achievement of the nineteenth century, and right at the start too. I didn’t think it could get any higher…that was, until, my staff was good enough to bring me a certain Dementor who had swallowed a soul that once resided within a vampire.” He wandered to the shelf and ran a finger down the side of an orb that pulsed with light at the touch. “Do you recognize this? Looks a bit different when it’s not inside him, I daresay.”

Buffy found she had enough strength to lift herself off the sofa, though her arms shook a bit with the effort. She glanced down to assess the situation. Her clothes were burned and singed, and while her skin was red and scarred in some areas, it didn’t look as bad as she would have thought. Except there were chains around her wrists and ankles—hard, heavy chains. She swallowed and eyed the door, calculating the odds that she’d be able to get across the threshold before Crowley was any the wiser.

“I wouldn’t try it,” he said conversationally. “Not just because of the chains. As it turns out, you do not have many friends down here. Thus far, no one knows where to find you. As long as you remain within these walls, you are safe.”

“You told me you would bring me back,” she said. Her voice was stronger now, whether because the blood was working its magic or because she’d realized she was in trouble, she didn’t know. But remaining calm was the key. People got sloppy when they panicked, and sloppy got you dead. Buffy very much intended to not die.

“I think you’ll find I said no such thing.” Crowley lifted a hand. “I said I _could _bring you back. That I _would _is something you took for granted.” He offered what she supposed he meant to pass for a pleasant smile and took a step forward. “As it is, though, I will be only too happy to bring you back…once I get what I want.”

Buffy eyed the soul in Crowley’s palm. Angel’s soul. All this time they’d thought it was gone forever and this asshole was keeping it on his shelf.

“Before I was the King of Hell, I was the King of the Crossroads,” Crowley continued. “There wasn’t a deal I couldn’t strike and the price for admission was the same across the board. And though I have moved on to bigger and better things, well, old habits and all that. I don’t do anything for free, and in your case, the cost of returning to the land above will be the crowning addition to my soul collection.”

Buffy swallowed, willing herself to keep from panicking. “You can’t remove my soul.”

“Oh, say that again. This time with a little tremor in your voice.” He favored her with a lascivious grin. “There’s little I love more than mastering the impossible.”

“A slayer keeps her soul for a reason.”

“Mmm, yes. It will be quite difficult to extract, but I never turn down a good challenge. And once you are free of that pesky little soul of yours, I’ll return you to the world above and…well, we’ll see what happens.”

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t _possible_. This Buffy kept on repeat, knowing full well that if her heart could beat, it would be pounding her ribcage. Especially now, when she wasn’t at full strength—when she wasn’t certain she could overpower this prick if it came down to it. But if he kept pouring blood down her throat, that wouldn’t always be the case. Already she felt far beyond the state she’d been in even five minutes ago.

“I imagine this will hurt, quite a bit,” Crowley continued. “And for that, my dear, I am sorry. I will do whatever I can to make the process quick, if not painless.”

Buffy released a long breath, her lungs crying out in protest. “This will not end well for you.”

Crowley laughed outright at that. “I always win, you’ll find. Even with your insufferable mate sniffing around down here. Yes…” He rolled his eyes. “He’s down here now, searching for you. I dropped him off far away from us and fed him some false leads that ought to keep him occupied. Imagine how delighted he’ll be when I introduce him to the new and improved Buffy Summers. No longer hampered by a soul, ready to make life interesting for everyone up above.”

She stared at him for a moment, then, in spite of herself, barked a laugh.

For the first time since she’d opened her eyes, Crowley looked unsettled. “I like a good joke as much as the next man. Care to share what tickled your fancy?”

“I was just thinking… If I were you, I’d hope that Spike gets here first.”

“You would, would you?” He rolled his eyes again. “Oh, Buffy, really? I thought you’d be a bit too modern to play damsel.”

“Oh, I am.” Buffy offered a flat smile. “Because if Spike gets here, you’ll have a chance of making it out alive. If I get myself out before he finds me? Three words, _your liege_: Run. Like. Hell.”

Crowley scowled. “Overconfidence has undone many a hero, love.”

“And many a demon.”

“You know, I was feeling a bit…bad about what was coming.” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “Not anymore. By all means, though, scream all you like. You have a pretty voice. Put it to good use.”

Buffy would bite off her own tongue before she let him hear her scream.

*~*~*

“Hmm. Don’t mind if I do.”

Faith rolled her eyes and smacked Dean’s hand away from her ass before returning her attention to washing out the shampoo she’d scrubbed into her scalp. “Told you to wash your own rubber ducky.”

“Aww, baby, don’t be like that.” She heard the pout in his voice and had to swallow her snicker. “You can’t wave that in my face and expect me not to touch.”

She turned to face him as soapy suds ran down her back. “You’re the one who came into my shower,” she said, ringing her hair of excess water.

“I asked you to wait for me.”

Yeah, he had. After checking in with Sam and Dawn, Dean had insisted on calling Crowley again to see if any headway had been made in the search for Buffy, and to check where he might have left Spike. And true, he had asked Faith to wait for him to join her in the shower, but she hadn’t been in the mood.

“And I told you I was gonna scrub it up.” She smirked. “So show some self-control.”

“I don’t wanna.” He waggled his eyebrows then took a long, obvious gawk of her water-splattered breasts. “I wanna stroke my kitty. Make her purr. Does my kitty wanna purr?” He lowered his mouth to her neck and nibbled. He paused when he came to the place Kelly had bitten, and some of the playfulness faded from his voice. “This hurt?” he asked, running a finger over the mark. “Looks a lot better already.”

“Slayer genes. What can I say?”

Dean waggled his eyebrows again and seized her by the hips. “I love your slayer jeans. Granted, you’re a lot hotter out of them.”

Faith ran her hands up his naked abdomen until her palms were against his chest…then gave him a little shove. “No means no, Ducky. Don’t make Kitty gouge your eyes out.”

He poked out his lower lip but stepped aside to let her navigate around him. “I sad Ducky.”

“Well…” She grinned and nipped at his lips. “If Ducky hurries, he might find Kitty’s still wet when he gets to bed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, but be thorough. You got really fucking filthy.”

“I thought you liked me filthy.”

“Prefer it when I’m the one makin’ you that way.”

Faith took her time drying off in the bathroom, right up until it occurred to her that she’d have time—should Dean take her instructions to heart—to leave him the sort of video message that he would kick himself over not finding sooner. It had been there in the back of her mind for a while now, but Dean was with her so frequently, she often had to sneak away to leave her messages. It wasn’t often she had the bedroom to herself while Dean was in the bunker.

She tossed the shower a look to make sure Dean’s back was to her, then surfed his phone out of his jeans pocket, and sprinted to their bedroom. She positioned the phone on the ledge above the bed, and got busy getting busy.

“Haven’t needed to get myself off since before I died,” she told the camera with a wink. “Number One keeps me nice and satisfied. Still, it’s something a girl should remember how to do, right? Wanna see how much I remember?”

She stretched out on the bed, spread her legs, and went through the motions of getting herself to orgasm. It was like riding a bicycle, she found—fun and exhilarating in a purely physical way, but missing a crucial element. Something she wouldn’t have known to miss before. The Dean Winchester element. This she told the camera.

“Hope you got more out of that than I did.” She blinked and shook her head. “Fuck, I think I miss my duck.”

At this, the door opened, and Dean let himself in. He stopped short when he saw her, prone and nude across their bed, her legs spread and every inch of her on display. He stared for a long beat before his eyes sparkled with that quintessential Dean shine and a smirk tugged on his lips.

“Well, you weren’t kidding.”

Faith glanced at the phone above them, hoping like hell he wouldn’t see it. While she intended for him to watch all of the videos someday, she didn’t want that to be now. This one-sided conversation she had going with him was therapeutic in more ways than one, and she wasn’t ready to give it up. Not until she felt she could say all the things she kept spilling to his screen to his face. The things she’d told him earlier today had been a step in the right direction, but she’d only said that because she’d thought he was asleep. There were still miles to go.

“God, you are one sexy bitch,” Dean said. He wasn’t looking anywhere but at her. “What do I need to do to get this to be what I see every time I come in here from now on?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “You’re makin’ me dry up.”

“Uh huh.” He dragged a finger up the slit of her pussy. “If this is you dry, then—”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

Faith sat up lightning-fast, looped her arms around his neck, and favored him with a saucy smirk. “Gonna put that mouth to use.”

“I fucking hope so.” He kissed her hard and pushed her back to the bed, and proceeded to show her exactly why masturbating wasn’t nearly as much fun as it had been before she’d met him.


	69. Chapter 69

Sam released a grateful sigh as he looked down at the text from Charlie—he’d been waiting all night for this moment. Politely excusing himself from the conversation, he slipped into the hall of the ballroom and found the service kitchen.

The poor guy working up an hors d'oeuvre tray looked up in surprise to see him walking in. In contrast, the Secret Service agent gave him a nod and spoke into his headset. “Condor approaching.”

It was funny that the moment reminded him of a simpler time back when he’d been just an idealistic speechwriter and aide—back before he had a code name. There were times, like now, he’d love to go back in time and try it all again with the knowledge he had now about things.

They’d worked fundraisers here before, so he knew the way to the back alley. He also knew it was where he’d find him.

“Evening, Governor.” He was greeted as soon as he walked outside.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Sam said to Jed Bartlet. “Hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“Not at all,” he said before taking a puff of the cigarette he was sneaking. “Charlie told me you wanted private conversation.” He gave him a long look. “How are you, Sam?”

God, he missed this—missed the days where the President and Leo were close by for regular advice and guidance. “Truthfully, I’m not good.”

Bartlet nodded thoughtfully as he inhaled another drag. “I suppose not. How’s your son?”

Sam smiled at that. He still was in that stage where the words were new and exciting—_his son_. “He’s just perfect, thank you, sir.”

“Is he why you aren’t running or is it the mother?”

Sam blinked in surprise. That was a little blunt.

“Come on,” Bartlet gently chastised. “The cards were lined up for you to take a shot this time. You were going to be on the ticket first or second.”

“I was a long shot,” he insisted.

“That’s what they said about the House. What they said when you ran for Governor.” Bartlet sighed. “It wasn’t another prostitute was it, Sam?”

“What?” he balked. “_No!_”

“Hey,” he said, holding up a hand. “Don’t blame me for asking. Toby and Josh won’t give me a straight answer. Naturally, it leads a fella to wonder.” He eyed him hard. “It is her though, right?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I get that. Ended up facing impeachment for my _complicated_, but I don’t think it should stop you from trying. You’re one of the good ones, son. Maybe one of the last.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, knowing he’d cherish the compliment forever.

“Well, why was it you wanted to talk alone? I’m assuming it wasn’t just to give me evasive answers.”

Sam gave a nervous chuckle. “No.” Fuck, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask. “MACUSA,” he said softly and waited to see the man’s reaction.

Bartlet’s eyes grew wide and he tossed down the butt of his cigarette. “What did you say?”

Sam cleared his throat. “MACUSA,” he spoke a little louder.

Bartlet shook his head. He stepped close to Sam and pulled another stick from the pack, lit it and passed it to Sam. He took the offering awkwardly and held it while the President lit one for himself. “You shouldn’t know that word, Sam. Shouldn’t ever say it again.”

“You do know,” Sam reasoned before giving in to peer pressure and inhaling a lungful of nicotine. This would have to do until he could find a stiff drink.

“And you shouldn’t,” Bartlet warned in a low voice. “How?”

Sam swallowed. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

Realization crossed Jed Bartlet’s face as he stepped back in shock. “The mother?” he asked.

He couldn’t deny it, so he knew he confirmed it. “What do _you_ know about them?”

“Blessedly little,” Bartlet said. “I met a man named Toadmore exactly one time the day after the inauguration. Fitz, Nancy, Leo and I were said to be the only ones outside their community to know of the existence. Those were the only four people allowed to know in any administration.” He shook his head. “They explained magic was real and governed under its own rules, laws, and government. Unless war broke out inside the United States, they would not interfere in our lives and we should not interact in theirs.”

“That sounds about right,” Sam admitted.

“Then what the hell happened?” Bartlet growled.

Sam snickered. “Magic. She and I crossed paths and…” He shrugged. “Kinda obvious what happened.”

“Sam—”

“I know,” he said in a more serious tone. “But at the time she and I didn’t know anything about MACUSA or their damn rules. She worked in England and over there it isn’t as big a deal.”

“Well, here it is an extremely big deal.”

“Hence why I decided not to run.”

Bartlet shook his head. “No, there has to be a way. As long as she isn’t in their government, they should be able to overlook it somehow.”

“She’s not _in _their government, but she’s also not liked. She’s a pretty unique witch, situation with me aside. They don’t want her here and England kicked her out.”

“Who knows?” he demanded.

“Donna, Josh, and Toby.”

“Dammit,” Bartlet hissed. Then he paused. “Your son? Is he…”

“Yeah, he is.”

“You just had to go and outdo me, huh boy?” he grumbled.

“Sir?”

Bartlet shook his head. “I’ll call Fitz. He knows more than I do I’m sure. One way or another, we will figure this out.”

“Sir, I’m not sure what there is left to figure out.”

“How to make you president, Sam. That’s what we’re going to do.”

Well, that was not how he expected the conversation to go.

*~*~*

There was a heaviness around the bunker as the night faded into light. Until Buffy and Spike were home, this wasn’t over. The problem was that any hope was currently in Hell.

Rosalie doubted anyone really went to bed. Sure, people lay down—slept a little or maybe had some grief or relief sex—but nobody checked out for the night. Nick and she took turns nearly every hour going out to look for any news. She’d bumped into Giles and Faith and Ginny on three trips and Nick had run into her mom, Dean and Dawn. Cas remained exactly where Crowley had taken Spike and had likely shaken his head a million times as everyone quietly looked to him in hopes Buffy and Spike were back and off having their wild vampire sex time.

Once the morning hit, Rosalie stopped going outside and delegated Nick to being her reporter. Truth was she still hadn’t let go of her bitterness and anger. She knew it was petty and immature, but she just couldn’t shake it. So she shut herself away and tried to keep everyone who seemed hellbent on oppressing her away.

Right now Nick was her only solace. Even if he didn’t accept what she was feeling, he’d begrudgingly told her in the night that he could understand her perspective—at least so far as the fact that she had been held back from some of the responsibilities and sacrifice that typically befalls a slayer. He still argued it was a good thing and she should just be grateful, but she couldn’t. Not all the way. Not in the way that felt like she needed to prove herself—to the world as much as her family. The part of her that was never seen as an equal to Buffy or Faith.

Nick had brought her some OJ and Pop Tarts before settling at his desk to start looking up lore into entrances and exits to Hell. They’d all started questioning whether Crowley was going to bring them to Kansas or just drop them randomly in Uganda without cell service.

There was a light knock on the door. “You kids decent?”

Her pulse quickened at her dad’s voice. They hadn’t talked since everything happened and she wasn’t sure she was ready to.

“It’s unlocked,” Nick said in way of permission. Jerk coulda looked at her before giving her father the all-clear.

Zack Wright was one of those guys that didn’t enter a room unnoticed. She didn’t know if she’d ever told him, but he had an aura that shone brighter than most people she’d ever met. There were others—a lot of the current residents here for example—that had them as well, but she was biased and saw his almost as an intimidating beacon of energy.

“So,” he said, swinging the door open and stepping inside. “Team Hogwarts is flying back to LA here in a few. They’re thinking that the best way of watching Willow is figuring out how deep it goes between MACUSA and Wolfram and Hart.”

Nick slid around in his wooden chair to look at them, slinging an arm over the back. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding at Nick before looking straight in Rosalie’s eyes. “Your mom and I are going, too.”

Her heart gave a funny jump at the news. Part or her was so mad at her dad right now she wanted him as far as possible, but then she had the part of her that wanted to beg him not to leave her again. The part of her that had to watch him leave her for nearly all her life. “That makes sense,” she said, parroting Nick’s words.

She saw a flash of pain cross her dad’s face, but he quickly shook his head and turned to look at Nick instead. “Zack and Kelly may come back here or they may wander on back home. Pretty sure Zack will get her under control. Dick’s got our old man’s way of manipulating people. He just normally uses his powers for good, hence why I haven’t staked his ass.”

Nick chuckled softly. “Yes, well, as long as souls are intact, Zack and Kelly don’t really concern me. When under control.”

“They will be,” her dad said with all the confidence in the world. “They got Rosie and Willy to think about.”He sighed and gave Rosalie a quick glance. “Speaking of which, I gotta another girl I gotta go piss off. Word is Special K and them are having a blast with Ron and Ginny’s parents. I want her home before she starts talking to snakes and carrying around a wand.”

“Uhh,” Nick said, slightly higher than his usual tone. “Technically she wouldn’t be eligible to own a wand until the age of eleven. Also Parseltongue is an extremely rare and often hereditary trait.”

Dad narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you try and logic me. My eldest girl is a Seer and the Slayer and she’s with the boy I rescued and carried a decade ago in London. Out there,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “There’s another Seer and a Slayer. Plus four witches and wizards, an angel, a Key, a whole family that keeps coming back from the dead and Giles.” He smirked. “Still haven’t figured him out after all these years, but the man defines logic. Not to mention the vamp fam, the King of Hell, Lucifer and Willow. So I ain’t hedging no bets on logic to start working around here.”

Nick gave a small smile. “Argument won.” A pause. “I have a few stories I heard about Giles and his rebellious youth that would blow your bloody mind.”

“Yeah?” he replied with a wisp of a smile. “Well, once Spike gets home, the three of us are gonna go make a night. I owe you and Spike a few and he definitely is owed some juicy gossip on his father-in-law.”

Rosalie bit her lip to keep from grinning as she saw Nick’s cheeks flush and a boyish look of eagerness fill his eyes. “That would be…nice.”

She hadn’t seen that softness on Zack Wright’s face toward very many people outside the family. “Yeah,” he said with a nod.

Rosalie hadn’t pried much about what had happened back in London, but knew it played a bigger role than the fact that she and Nick were living together. Nick had been pretty tight lipped about what he’d experienced—never saying more than he had that first morning about being at school and running after another kid who was heading into danger. Her dad had just revealed he’d rescued and had to carry him to safety. That confirmed what she’d already suspected—Willow had hurt her Nick the day she’d attacked the Watchers Council. And judging by the way nobody wanted to say much other than “destroyed” and other negative generalizations, it had been _bad_.

“When are you leaving?” she heard herself asking.

“Wow,” her dad replied, arching his brows to look her direction. “At least try to not sound so eager when your mom comes in. She’s been crying all morning since we decided and you can be pissed at me all you want. You break her heart and I’m liable to get a little violent on your ass.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Considering Dawn is dealing with a head full of regret with how she left things with her sister, I’d kinda like you to at least give me a half-ass goodbye. Maybe an ‘I love you’ on the off chance another apocalypse pops up or I die in a car crash when I let Cordy drive the rental.”

“Not funny.” She pouted. Too many lost faces crowded her dreams when she’d slept—she wouldn’t crack jokes about adding her dad to her nightmares.

“Just commenting on my humor or are you trying to tell me you still care?”

She released a frustrated sigh. “Dammit, Dad.”

“She remembers me,” he mocked, giving Nick an amused glance.

“Stop it,” she demanded.

His eyes turned serious as he looked at her. “You first. Stop getting so pissed off that we all are just trying our best to look out for you. It ain’t a crime to have a family that loves you and tries to have your back.”

Part of her wanted to argue her point about needing to be seen as an adult and the active Slayer, but the desperate look in Nick’s eyes shut it off. He was right—now wasn’t the time. “Shut up and hug me, you old jackwaggon,” she replied as she hopped off the bed and walked to him with arms outstretched.

She felt her dad release a trembling sigh as he wrapped his arms around her and nestle her to his chest. “I love you, Rosie baby.” His voice was thick. “Forever and always, you little smart-mouthed brat.”

She gave a watery snicker as she buried her face in his shirt. “I like your new cologne,” she said in peace offering.

His chuckle warmed her soul. “Cordy said she finally grew too sick of smelling my Old Spice. Threw it out and replaced it with some fucking expensive shit by some celebrity I never heard of. Truth is a kinda like it.”

She pulled back to see her dad smiling down at her. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Yeah, someday I’m going to purge Nick off all his Axe body spray.”

“Oi!” she heard her boyfriend call out. “I tossed the one you said smelled like your old high school.”

“Dean took it,” she told her dad with a smirk.

“Well, it matches his maturity level,” her dad reasoned before giving her a wink and a kiss to the forehead. “Now tell me you love me before I get cranky.”

“I love you,” she said before hugging him once more.

“You better. Now you kids go and put the full mushy Hallmark act on for your mom. I got a full day with her and I’d like the put off the Xanax high as long as possible.”

“Okay,” she agreed and let him go.

As they started down the hall, she heard her dad whisper to Nick behind her. “Kinda hoping to join the Mile High Club today.”

“Oh my God,” she muttered as she picked up her pace. Though she did enjoy the way both guys laughed together as they followed her down the hall. Her family was fucked up, but she loved it anyway.

*~*~*

Dean was feeling his age and all the years of abuse his body had taken from a life of hunting and liver damage. He hoped a few nights of solid sleep would help him out because he was beginning to doubt he had the ability to screw a slayer three times a day and not break a hip. Damn, woman was gonna be his damnation. Granted he’d always wanted to go out with a bang.

“What?” Faith asked as she noted his soft snigger.

“Nothing,” he said, giving her an innocent look.

“Right,” she quipped with an eye roll. She pinched his ass and walked off.

He wiggled uncomfortably. She’d spanked him this morning and truth was it had hurt like a bitch. Still managed to make his rubber ducky squeak, but he was gonna have a bruise.

“You okay?” Sam said, moving beside him and giving him a bemused look.

“Ten-four, rubber ducky,” he said with a cocky smirk. His expression darkened as he glanced over to see Dawn sitting next to Giles. “How’s she doing?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “About as good as you’d expect.”

“So not,” Dean surmised. “Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. Crowley not answering is starting to really freak me out.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed. “Should we do another summoning?”

“If we don’t hear anything by the twenty-four-hour mark, yeah.”

“You don’t think Crowley pulled a Crowley and double-crossed us? Because I’m beginning to wonder if we gave him too much credit.”

“Seems about right, but he hates holing up downstairs. Might fancy a trip over to his topside office.”

“He’s got one in Hell?”

“Yeah, but I never got a tour. Mainly he uses it to hold all the freaky shit he’s collected over the years. Offered to show me Saddam’s skull and some pope’s soul one time. Demon me had just as much interest as this dude.” He pointed a thumb to his chest.

Sam chuckled lightly. “Well, at least you had some class.”

Dean balked. “Anything but—was too focused on getting drunk, having sex and singing some karaoke that I almost feel worse about than all the other shit I did.” He gave Sam a long look. “Dude, it was like that time in Oklahoma, but for _weeks_.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide. “The weekend you drunkenly tried meth?” He shook his head. “I almost left you there in anger and embarrassment.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m banned from the entire town of Miami.”

“You are,” Sam confirmed. “They sent out a notice to every casino or bar with a karaoke machine. And probably every masseuse.”

“Oh yeah.” He looked up as he recalled. “I was really looking for a happy ending.”

“Hmm,” Harry said as he had walked up while Dean had been reminiscing on the kind of bad choices that turned out to be funny stories. “I believe I came in at the wrong part.”

“Good times.” Dean smiled.

“There was no good part,” Sam reassured Harry.

The wizard knew how to take a hint. Nodding, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “We all talked this morning and decided it would probably be best if Sabrina didn’t come here until after it’s been fully determined MACUSA has no unknown ways of tracking her. There’s some blood magic that could theoretically be invoked, but we’re hoping they haven’t gone that dark.” He sighed. “Regardless, when she does come…” His eyes trailed over to Rosalie. “You’ll need to watch him.”

“Yeah,” Sam said thickly as he followed the look. “I am not comfortable with Wes around her.”

“Huh?” Harry said before realizing how it was interpreted. “Right, but I was more worried about Hunter attacking Wesley again. He would have beaten him to death last time around.”

Dean looked at the young guy standing next to the littlest slayer. “Yeah, now I’m confused because I think you’re saying we should stop him, but I’m thinking we should help him out.”

“Need I remind you that Wesley is currently in some sort of relationship with your sister? The sister you haven’t even met. Probably not the first step toward familial bonding.”

“I hate to say it, but I agree with Dean.” Like a bitch, Sam had to look disappointed in himself. “I don’t want him here. Not for Rose or Faith.”

“You rang?” Faith said, coming up behind them and giving Dean a smack on the ass.

He yelped like wounded puppy and tried desperately to avoid all the eyes looking at him.

Faith snickered before crossing her arms. “So, secrets don’t make friends. What’s up?”

“We were discussing Sabrina,” Harry said as he held up a piece of paper. “This is her mobile number. Once we leave, you will need a means of communication.”

“Gotcha,” Faith said, plucking the paper with one hand and slipping over to pull Dean’s phone from his pocket with the other. Then she unlocked it and started programming in the number.

“Dude.” Sam laughed. “You refused to tell me your passcode.”

“I didn’t,” Dean said with gritted teeth. “Faith?”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t look up from the screen. “Kinda predictable. If it wasn’t Baby’s birthday, it would be your favorite number doubled.”

“Favorite number?” Harry asked.

“Well,” Dean scoffed. “Not my _favorite_ number. Really just a number.”

“Seriously?” Sam sounded so disheartened. “Sixty-nine sixty-nine? Are you still twelve?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled.

“Don’t bother changing it,” Faith advised. “If it ain’t one of those two, you’ll just use your or Sammy’s birthdays. If not, you’ll forget and end up breaking your phone.” With that she looked up and smirked. “Reminds me, you got this on the cloud right? Any day now it’s gonna crash from all the porn you got downloaded.”

Sam cracked up. “Downloaded? You _downloaded _porn to your phone?”

Dean shrugged and gave a sheepish look. “Sometimes I lose signal.” Then he snatched the phone from Faith. “Snoopy.”

“Most of it was pretty good. Kinda saw what you meant by Princess Asuka.” She gave him a wink.

“You both overshare,” Sam said with a cringe. “Gross.”

“And I do pay for cloud storage, thank you very much,” Dean huffed indignantly.

“You know you avoided answering me,” Harry interjected.

“Pretty sure we gave you an answer, Potter,” Dean replied.

“Answer to what?” Faith asked.

Dean grunted softly. He knew Sam or Harry would spill the beans. Truth was that Wes was kinda a hard pill for him to swallow. Faith had already admitted that they had been more the typical hookup. The fact that he’d also been her first and last relationship before him put the word _rebound_ in his head. Killing her also didn’t put him on Dean’s buddy list.

Sam broke first. “Harry was just saying that Sabrina is currently traveling with Wes. So chances are high that when she comes here… Well, he wants to know we won’t let Nick attack him again.”

“And _I _said that Nick will be the least or his worries. The kid’s never committed murder.” He gave Harry a dark look. “I have.”

“Dean,” Sam berated before turning to Harry. “Look, I don’t want him here. As far as I’m concerned, he can crawl in a hole and die.” He glanced over to Faith. “But that’s not up for me decide. Faith and Rose get final say. If they want him stuffed and mounted, tarred and feathered or burned at the stake then okay. And if they want to allow him into their home, that’s their choice.” He paused. “Right, Dean?”

His little brother was a giant bag of dicks. Later when they were alone, he would definitely be letting him know that. Nevertheless, now he was stuck giving an answer—and he only had one fucking option. “Yup,” he said curtly.

As much as he wanted to steal a peek at Faith, he also didn’t want to chance seeing her possibly reveal that she was currently reminiscing about the good old days. Or worse—like regretting the here and now. He looked down at the phone in his hand. “I’m gonna go call Crowley again,” he mumbled and walked away.

He was done with bon voyage thing. If Crowley didn’t pick up, he’d just take a ride over to his upstairs office and get to poking around.

“_What?_”

Dean jerked in surprise. “You answered.”

“It was that or come and snap your neck,” Crowley growled.

“Have you found her?” Dean demanded.

“She’s currently being protected in a secure location.”

That sounded _too_ vague. “Elaborate.”

“The good news is demons can’t get to her.”

Dean’s pulse began to race. “And the bad?”

“Well,” Crowley’s voice raised in pitch. “It also makes her hard to extract.”

“She’s _trapped_?” he shouted.

“For the moment,” the demon reassured. “I think she’s gonna break out any time now.”

“Then you bring her _and_ Spike directly to me, you understand?”

“And what if you have your spoon in the honey pot?”

Dean considered it a moment. “Call it your second and last glimpse at my dick. Bring them back to me, Crowley.”

“I really hope she’s topless. I really want to see her tits this time.”

Dean hung up and fought the urge to throw his phone. As he stormed off to the kitchen, he reminded himself it was never too early for a beer. Or a shot.


	70. Chapter 70

Every time Crowley touched her chest, Buffy felt like her insides were trying to rearrange themselves. As though her muscles were pressing against her skin, her organs ballooning outward to make room for something attempting to navigate down a narrow passage. _Pain _wasn’t a word she’d use to describe the sensation—pain was a known factor, something she could measure and deal with. No, what Crowley was doing redefined pain. As though he was trying to rip out the core of her self from her body—her batteries, the very thing that made her Buffy.

The good news was she was pretty much convinced his increasing impatience and angry outbursts meant the soul was, as promised, too entwined with her demon to be extracted. The bad news was she was becoming more convinced that he meant to exorcise any available means, and he’d run out of ideas that didn’t involve flaying her open.

A theory he confirmed when he next stepped into his office, holding a rib-spreader and a hacksaw.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Crowley said upon seeing her face, wearing a sneer on his own. “It won’t kill you.”

No, it wouldn’t. And Buffy had learned over the past however-long that a dead Buffy was the last thing Crowley wanted. Hard to collect a soul from particles of dust. She’d already heard him muttering to himself about Plan B, which she gathered was that rather than place her shiny soul on his trophy shelf, he’d just keep her here forever.

Still, the King of Hell couldn’t quite contain his enthusiasm for what he was about to do. He’d been rather overt in how much he was enjoying the process of soul-extraction, even without the intended result. Thus far, Buffy had upheld her vow to herself to keep from screaming, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to hold on. Especially with the maniacal gleam in the demon’s eyes.

“You realize, even if you’re successful, the first thing soulless Buffy is going to do is tear out your throat.”

A small smile played across Crowley’s face. “I do enjoy your threats, my dear. I’ve started writing down my favorites to remember you by.”

“I don’t make threats, your highness.”

“Oh, of course not. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t start trembling in my boots. You may be a demon, but I am the King of Hell.”

“Yeah, and you’re afraid of what will happen if two human hunters find out where you stashed their surrogate big sister. Sorry if I fail to find you scarier than I do pathetic.”

Crowley laughed outright at that. “You’ve known the Winchesters for less than a year and you assume you mean that much to them? My, my, I had heard tale of your ego, but had thought to give you the benefit of a doubt.”

Buffy shrugged best she could. “All I’m hearing is that you’ve known them longer than me and yet I somehow know them better than you. And the point? You’re kinda missing it.” She pulled forward—Crowley had strung her up in a manner that had become entirely too familiar. Apparently all bad guys were into the Vitruvian man pose when it came to torture. “I don’t make threats. Me having a soul is pretty much going to be the only thing that holds me back when I get out of this. I’ll kill you, sure, but I’ll be quick about it. Me without a soul?” She snorted and gave her bindings a dismissive sneer. “Let’s just say I’ve already thought of some uses for angel blades that, while creative, make soul-having me kinda queasy.”

“You do love hearing yourself talk.”

“Quoteth the pot.”

Crowley favored her with a nasty smile. “I grow bored of this,” he said and snapped his fingers.

Buffy immediately went rigid—silent and still. Though she’d discovered almost immediately that this particular trick didn’t work on her—the freeze-frame she’d experienced when Lucifer had pulled the same failed to seize her, something she’d immediately decided was a piece of information best kept to herself. At the moment, Crowley was afraid enough of accidentally killing her that he kept her well-fed. If he knew she was storing her strength and his parlor tricks didn’t work, he might cut off the blood-flow, and she couldn’t risk that.

Because, as she’d also discovered, the chains he’d used to contain her weren’t the unbreakable sort that Angelus and Zack had used at Wolfram and Hart. Either Crowley didn’t know such existed or thought he was strong enough to contain her himself.

As it turned out, pretending to be immobile robbed her of the desire to scream when he sliced into her chest with the hacksaw. Rather, it gave her reason to remain still and fight through the pain. For vampires derived power from pain and that was how she had to look at this.

No matter how much it hurt.

*~*~*

Perhaps she had been foolish for expecting it, but Willow had thought some of Michael’s darker moods would alleviate after she’d closed the Hellmouth. And indeed, for a brief window there, he’d seemed to have been on Cloud Nine, downright giddy with himself and the progress they’d made. That, however, hadn’t lasted, and if anything, he was now crabbier than ever. Whenever she mentioned the work they had yet to do—closing the other hellmouths, stopping Lucifer, and now unlocking the Winchesters and the others from whatever spell had them convinced they were on the right side, Michael would snap at her.

Truth be told, if she hadn’t seen the devil’s mark itself, if she hadn’t experienced the sensation of the Hellmouth closing, if she hadn’t felt the weight of that power and more, she might have let some of the nonsense Sam had been fed affect her judgment. Willow wasn’t unaccustomed to being on the outs with everyone, and she certainly understood why believing she was working for the devil would come naturally for the others, especially given the weight of her crimes. Still, she couldn’t help but think of the old adage—if you meet one asshole a day, you’ve met an asshole. If everyone you meet’s an asshole, _you’re _the asshole. It seemed freakish to her that everyone, from Buffy to Harry, could be wrong about whose side they were on.

Except Buffy had her reasons to think the worst of her, didn’t she? Willow had tried to crack open her baby sister and siphon her powers to end the world. And Harry… Well, he and the others had been lying to her from the start, hadn’t they? And as Buffy went, so would Spike, Giles, Wright, Xander and everyone else go.

Plus, Michael had explained that angels weren’t the cloud-squatting, harp-playing peace-lovers depicted in popular media. Most, he’d said, had very little tolerance for humans. That he had his own anti-human tendencies to sort through because God had willed it so. This he’d volunteered on his own without any prompting after a particularly nasty rant during which he’d accidentally set her hotel room comforter on fire. He’d realized what he’d done a second too late, gotten himself under control, and explained that most angels resented humankind for being the preferred children of the Lord.

But nothing could erase the knowledge that she’d _felt _the Hellmouth open just as she’d felt it close. There was no other explanation for what she’d experienced.

Still, Willow did have other things to consider—things like what Sam had mentioned the last time they’d spoken. There was no way she’d accept a deal that would erase her son from existence… Not that Michael had mentioned their earlier talks about traveling back through time.

Which left her where she’d been before. But the Willow who had loved Tara had died along with her memories. She’d made that decision already. She’d already exhausted every possibility of bringing her back. And though she was older and wiser now, though she had years of advanced magical experience under her belt, there remained the irrefutable fact that nothing short of Glory herself could restore Tara’s mind.

And time…

_Time._

Willow gasped so hard her lungs hurt.

She couldn’t go back and undo the damage she’d done, but perhaps she could go back and grab Glory to bring her to the _present_. Glory was the key to undoing the damage that had been done to Tara, after all, and if Michael could take her back once, he could do it more than once. He could bring Glory to the present so Willow could restore Tara to her previous state, then return Glory to the past so that the events there remained intact.

_What then?_

Willow blew out a long breath. She had thought of little else since her conversation with Sam. Every decision she’d made since Michael had found her had been with one goal in mind—to undo everything that had gone wrong all those years ago. Everything—the pain she’d caused and the pain she’d suffered. And yeah, Tara had been a big part of that. A huge part. At the time, she’d been the largest and most important part of Willow’s life.

And in the aftermath of remembering everything that had happened back then, Tara had become her focal point. Her light in the dark. Somehow, if she could bring Tara back, the rest wouldn’t matter anymore.

But the Willow who had been in love with Tara had been a bright-eyed, naïve college student. She’d been a dabbler in witchcraft, coming into her own powers and growing stronger by the day. The Willow she was today was a survivor of more than one apocalypse. More than that, she was a mother, an educator, and someone who had very strong feelings for the governor of California. The more her thoughts turned to Sam Seaborn now, the more she felt like she was betraying Tara’s memory. The more she wanted to go to Sam, bury herself in his arms, the thicker the guilt she carried about the woman she’d left behind.

The truth was, imagining her life without Tara was so easy nowadays she couldn’t really picture the opposite. But if someone told her that she couldn’t go back to Sam, that that door was closed forever?

Willow started somewhat at the thought, and her eyes flooded with tears. At once, she very badly needed to talk to Sam. Hear his voice if she couldn’t be in his arms. She jerked her phone out of her pocket and, with trembling fingers, brought up his information.

The phone rang until it clicked over to voicemail, which she knew she shouldn’t find unusual, but she was accustomed to him picking up on the second ring at the latest. It was early evening, after business hours but politicians had a whole host of events and fundraisers that kept them working beyond the standard nine to five. There were a thousand explanations as to why he might not be answering, not the least of which was he could have decided that waiting for Willow wasn’t good enough for him anymore. He might be out on a date—perhaps with his secretary, no matter what his reassurances, or that Jessica Spano person she’d seen him so chummy with not that long ago.

Maybe it was too late.

_“Hello. You have reached the private line of Governor Samuel Seaborn. Please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Unless this is a reporter, under which case I will be changing my number tomorrow morning. Thank you.”_

“Sam,” Willow blurted, “I… Well, it’s… It’s me. I just… I’ve been thinking and you’re right. Of course you’re right. About, well, everything. And when I try to picture my life without you—the future without you… I don’t like it. I want what we talked about before all of this happened.” She paused. “I still want to save Tara, I do. And I will always love her. But I’m not who I was then and…I never can be again. But I want _us_. After all of this is over, after my work with Michael is done, I want us. You, me, and Oz. If you still do. Just…call me when you get this. I…” What? _I love you_ seemed like the appropriate thing to say, but also not something to blurt over the phone with as much distance and uncertainty as there was between them. She wanted to be with him when she said it for the first time—the real first time. “I just miss you. Uhh, bye.”

She hung up before she could ramble on anymore. And hoped that whenever Michael got back from wherever he’d disappeared to, he was in a good enough mood to get on board with her new plan.

*~*~*

It didn’t take knowing him well to figure out that Dean was in one shitty mood. Had been ever since that morning, and Faith wasn’t sure she wanted to prod the bear. He’d made a few snarly comments about her usage of his phone—knowing the code to his phone had apparently challenged his boundaries. Even though if the damn boy had used his brain, he’d remember that he was the one who had given it to her in the first place. Wasn’t her fault he hadn’t thought to change it afterward. Or that she could crack the code in a hot second if he decided to swap it out.

And fuck her, but if the phone was his line in the sand after refusing to let her move out of his room and telling her he loved her, then he was one big baby. Which she already knew, granted, but it was kind of annoying.

Nick and Dawn went to open Rosa Lee’s as per usual, though getting Dawn out of the bunker had taken some serious arm-twisting. Almost like she thought an invisible line was being crossed—the world goes back to normal while Buffy and Spike were still MIA, and that was throwing in the towel, conceding that they would never return. Sam ultimately convinced her that going back to work was the right move, that waiting around would just drive her mad and that she’d be the first to know if something changed. Dawn had agreed ultimately, though she had been very conflicted.

After the Wrights, Potters, Weasleys, and Xander and Anya had left, Rosalie had gone from being somewhat affable to a nasty little shit again. She’d made some comment about patrolling by herself before she’d left, either not noticing or not counting that Sam had gone after her. Watcher duty and all.

Which left Faith alone in the bunker, save Dean and the angel. Giles and Mary had yet to arrive back, though they had both been brought up to speed in one very uncomfortable phone conversation—Dawn had ultimately broken the news. And since Dean didn’t seem to be in a mood to play, Faith decided to get her drink on.

She swung by the rec room, where he was flipping through channels. “Hey. Goin’ to throw back a few.”

Dean looked up and gave her a forced smile. “Want some company?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been even more of a dick than usual since you talked to Crowley earlier, and not in the fun way.”

For a second, she thought he would deny it, at which point she’d just walk away until he shook out whatever had crawled up his ass. She figured this relationship shit came with occasional man tantrums and squabbles, and knowing how temperamental they both were, they’d likely be going for each other’s throats quite a bit. So Dean’s bad mood wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she didn’t think she could deal with it tonight.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet and clicking off the television. “I know. Sorry.”

Well, that hadn’t gone the way she’d thought. Faith blinked. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” He approached her with a wince, then leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “Just all up in my head about all this shit. And you mighta left a bruise on my ass, which, I have no shame in telling you, has made sitting a lotta fun today.”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “Ducky has a bruise?”

He offered a half-smile. “Kitty don’t know her own strength.”

Yeah, and that had been bound to come up at one point or another. She sighed and glanced away. “Sorry,” she muttered and realized a second later she meant it. She’d always been extra rough in the bedroom, though she did try to draw the line at actual pain—particularly since squeezing too tight was a great way to turn a guy into a limp noodle. But on the occasion she had left a physical mark, she’d always just laughed it off and told the guy to grow a pair.

She didn’t like the thought that she’d hurt Dean, even if it had been while making him come.

“Hey.” He tipped her chin up and gave her a wink. “Best kind of bruise, right?”

“I can kiss it better later.”

“Then yeah, totally worth it.”

Faith felt herself relax, though not as much as she would have liked. While Dean seemed to be in a better mood as they slid into the Impala, there was still clearly something on his mind, and she had precisely zero practice in getting a guy to talk about shit he wasn’t otherwise inclined to share.

But knowing him, it’d all come out eventually. So maybe she didn’t have to pry.

Still, he grumped his way into Rosa Lee’s, and it wasn’t until she saw the karaoke line that inspiration struck. She still owed him a dare or two—granted, one would have to wait until Buffy was above ground again, but there was one she could do now.

She made her way to the bar, signaled to Nick for her usual, then marched over to the makeshift stage without so much as a backward glance.

Faith might not be a Brittney Spears girl, but she was a child of the nineties who had hit more than one club back in the day and she knew how to move. She chose the easiest selection from the discography, gave Lorne a look that dared him to comment, and shoved her way to the front of the queue as only a slayer could.

Dean had parked his ass beside the bar and looked somewhere between afraid and intrigued.

“This is to make good on a dare,” she announced into the microphone. “So strap in, ya’ll.”

At that, Dean’s face went mega-watt bright. “Oh, hell yes,” he called and started clapping. “Shake it, baby.”

And that’s exactly what she did. The second the iconic entrance to “Baby One More Time” sounded through the speakers, Faith put her slayer reflexes and muscles to good use, belting out the lyrics—which she, like many a girl from her generation, had long ago seared into her brain—and rolling her hips in ways that would put the actual Ms. Spears to shame. By the end, she was panting and sweaty like she’d just run a marathon, but grinned broadly at the standing ovation granted by Rosa Lee’s patrons. She took a theatrical bow, then hopped off the stage and to the bar, where a slack-jawed Nick had her drink waiting.

“Faith…what the hell was that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Nicky. When have you ever known me to welsh on a dare?”

“That’s good to know, angel mine.”

The voice, amplified by the microphone, had every cell in her body freezing. Faith went rigid and glanced to Dean, whose bright smile had twisted into a mask of pure fury. That more than anything alerted her to what she’d see when she turned around, but she still couldn’t help the way her stomach dropped when her eyes verified what she already knew.

Lucifer was on the stage, a big smile on his face. “I have a dare for you, then,” he said into the mic, not taking his eyes off her. “One I think you’ll like. See, darling, I think I get it. You need your men dark…but you, soft, sweet slayer, don’t know just how dark it can go. You tried before, didn’t you? Tried to get Angel to lose his soul because you knew the big fluffy puppy just wasn’t any fun with his personal Jiminy Cricket. And then Wes. Good ole Wes. Had to be pushed into going dark, but that’s the kind of thing that turns a girl like you on. Still, he just wasn’t enough for you, was he?”

Faith was moving before she realized it, her fists balled and her heart thundering.

“Baby—”

“And, of course, Dean. In terms of who’s twisted, you _do_ keep leveling up, but I think you’ll find that I”—the devil spread his arms—“am the ultimate bad boy. What sweet, sweet music we could make together.”

Lucifer didn’t flinch as Faith pulled back her fist, that serene smile remaining in place. And she knew why a second too late—the instant the cantina’s sanctuary spell kicked in and sent her flying back. The patrons cleared the path so she landed hard on a table that then shattered to the floor.

“And that’s my dare,” Lucifer continued cheerfully. “I dare you to take a walk on the true wild side. I promise once you go devil, well, it doesn’t rhyme but the sentiment’s the same.”

Faith flipped back to her feet, aware dimly that everyone in the bar was looking at her. She was shaking so hard she thought she might dent the floor, her eyes welling with tears that she’d sure as fuck not shed here.

“And with that, ladies and gents, I’d like to dedicate this song to one very special lady.” Lucifer waved vaguely at the stereo without taking his eyes off her. Then, nearing the mic, he began to croon, “_I'm alone, yeah, I don't know if I can face the night. I'm in tears and the cryin' that I do is for you. I want your love…”_

She was moving again, this time tearing into the back without another word. She didn’t even bother glancing at Dean as she passed—afraid of what she’d see there. Fury, pity, disgust—he kept telling her it wasn’t her, that she wasn’t the sum of her past crimes, but fuck, what did it say that the devil thought otherwise? That he looked at her and still saw the girl she’d been then, the shadow of her worst self that she couldn’t outrun. It was always there beneath the surface, the potential for destruction—hadn’t she hurt her boyfriend just by being a little rough? What if that was all that was left in her when all was said and done?

She kicked her way into Nick’s office, raw, untried energy coursing through her. She needed an outlet and she needed one now, and godfuckingdammit, there was no way to hit anyone in this stupid place. Faith paced the length of the office for a few seconds, willing herself to calm down, before a strangled cry tore at her throat and she couldn’t keep herself contained. She aimed a kick at his desk, punching open the wood and sending an explosion of splinters and dust into the air. And rather than ease the rage in her chest, she felt revved up even more. She wanted to kick it until it was nothing but a pile of toothpicks. Wanted to tear everything off the walls and shelves and make a good old fashioned mess. She wanted to beat at something until her knuckles bled.

The sound of Lucifer’s singing, rather than being muffled by the walls now separating them, seemed amplified.

_“Baby, you're my angel. Come and save me tonight. You're my angel. Come and make it all right…”_

There were other things to worry about. Lucifer being here tonight meant he wasn’t done—not that anyone had thought he was done. And if he was here, Rosalie might be in trouble on patrol. Willow might be up to no good somewhere else. The Hellmouth hadn’t stayed open. There would be another wave. And that was more important than Lucifer’s sick fixation.

Unless she was the second wave.

And that thought, more than anything, was what had her breaking down.


	71. Chapter 71

For a second there, Dean rode a wave of adrenaline that blocked out everything—especially the logic that a mortal man can’t take on the fucking devil. Watching Faith crash to the floor brought him back from the brink. He watched her run past him from the corner of his eye as he stared down Lucifer.

As much as he wanted to keep his eyes on the son of a bitch, he wanted more to make sure Faith didn’t do anything stupid like run off from the one place she was currently safe. “Watch him,” Dean growled with enough volume Dawn and Nick could hear. “Do _not_ leave here.” He turned and gave Dawn a look. “Call Sam, now.”

He took off for the back, worried Faith had slipped out the back door until he heard a violent commotion from Nick’s office. Taking a steadying breath, he walked up to the threshold. Poor wood never had a chance, he mused until he saw and heard her shuddering sobs. Like a magnet, he moved toward her but stopped himself from touching her at the last moment. “Faith?” he whispered.

The way she jumped let him know he’d probably caught her for the first and last time off guard. Truth was he didn’t know whether she needed comfort or violence now—he’d let her make the call.

“Dean,” she choked before coming up and burying her head in his chest.

Relief overpowered everything as he wrapped his arms around her and nestled his face in her hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in her intoxicating scent and did his best to be the strength she needed—they couldn’t both break down at once or the whole world might go topsy turvy.

The song ended and a part of him wondered if the devil had the balls to come back here and make another play. As the minutes ticked by and nothing happened, other than Faith slowly regaining her composure, Dean allowed himself to hope Lucifer had made his point for the night and left. The motherfucker did have a history of going for the drawn-out psychological warfare.

“Rosalie,” Faith spoke at last, pulling back to give him a fearful glance.

“Covered,” he assured her quickly. “Sam’s been called.”

Some of the tension left her body as she went back to hiding her face in his shirt. He released a shaky sigh and kissed the top of her head. He looked over at the pile of wooden debris. “On the bright side, that desk had it comin’. Never liked the way the bitch looked at me.”

Her watery and muffled laugh was music to his ears. “You’re stupid,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you keep hangin’ around so the joke’s on you, Kitty.”

She tilted her head to rest her chin on his chest and looked up at him. “You can’t keep telling me it’s all in my head.”

“Bitch looked at you funny too?” he said as he eyed the desk remains. “’Cause I’ll shoot it a few times for good measure.”

“Stop,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he said, acknowledging that cheap humor and deflection wouldn’t help her now. “Yeah, so he’s past the secret admirer stage. Truth is, baby, I got nothing. He can’t be killed and the only person I can think of to lock him up is currently his groupie. Until we can get her to see the light, we gotta watch our backs.”

“What he said about me—”

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t let him get in your head. That’s what he does best. Besides that, it was all a load of bullshit.”

“It really wasn’t.”

He hated the guilty look in her eyes.

“Don’t you start in with all that past shit, Faith. You ain’t that girl no more.”

“Why?” she challenged. “You gonna start in with the Dean Winchester greatest hits? Anything I can do you can do better?”

“Joke’s on you again, Ms. Lehane. I ain’t all bad. Write it down ’cause you got me to admit it. I’ve saved the world. A lot. Not so long ago, I had a soul bomb implanted in me so I could sacrifice myself and save the world from Amara. Done my fair share of other good deeds.” His eyes lit up as he remembered his personal favorite. “And I killed Hitler.” He winked. “And your delectable ass just came off not only saving little sister but the whole Slayer line. Not to mention you had to be held back by a fucking angel to keep from beating Buffy to the Hellmouth. So take all that and put it in your pipe and smoke it. You may be nasty, Miss Jackson, but you ain’t bad.”

He felt her run her fingers through his hair. Anticipation filled him as she slowly pulled his head down—he moaned with the need to taste her on his tongue. Just as their lips almost touched, she stopped. “Adolf Hitler?”

“Huh?” All he could think about was her.

“Was it a time travel thing? Like, do I need to thank you for ending the war?”

He blinked as lust took a time out. “No.” He paused. “Well, I was on a submarine that blew up a Nazi ship on a time travel thing but give me no credit. That was all the men and women who sacrificed their lives to pull it off—I merely was a spectator to history.” He shook his head. That had been pretty sobering. “This was kinda a reincarnation thing some Nazi necromancers cooked up. So yeah, I fucking shot and killed Hitler.”

Faith favored him a small smile. “What did you say? You punned Hitler, didn’t you?”

God, he loved how well she knew him, even if he didn’t want to tell her—she would be the only one to mock a guy for killing fucking Hitler. He mumbled quickly and then dipped to kiss her.

“Didn’t hear you, Ducky.” She pulled back slightly.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “‘Heil this.’”

Her eyes sparkled as a tiny giggle tumbled from her lips. “Oh, Ducky, I love it.”

“I love y—”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish before dragging him down to attack him with a hungry, desperate kiss—teeth and tongues and lips all fighting to see who could want it more. And he wanted more. With her, a little was never enough.

He felt her gasp into his mouth as he slipped his hand down the waistband of her panties. The primal part of him wouldn’t be satisfied into he was buried balls deep inside her warm, wet body. He ran his fingers through her damp curls and stopped when he heard a cough.

They both came back to reality with a jolt as they pulled apart. Then he whirled around and found Nick and Sam giving them both bemused looks. Clicking his tongue, Dean gave his brother the stink eye. “If he’s gone you, coulda waited five minutes.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “You finish within five minutes?”

Dean smirked. “Pretty sure with five more minutes we wouldn’t care if you watched.”

Faith smacked him on the shoulder and he quieted his cockiness. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he grew serious. “He gone?”

“Yeah,” Sam said somberly. “Skipped out after his…performance.” He shot Faith an apologetic look. Faith, for her part, grunted and turned away from the doorway.

“Well,” Nick said slowly. “The spell doesn’t prevent teleportation very effectively. And it doesn’t stop violence toward inanimate objects.” He gave the remains of his desk a long look.

“Sorry,” Faith quietly, keeping her back turned.

“I’m just glad you stayed,” Nick said, giving Dean a small nod. “It’s replaceable. You’re not.”

Faith gave a humorless chuckle but still didn’t turn around. He understood that she still needed a moment to gather herself enough to face everyone with the steely front she preferred to keep up in public.

“Can you give us a minute, guys?” Dean asked.

“Not five,” Sam teased before nodding and turning around to leave. Nick did the same.

Faith released a long, trembling sigh once they were alone again. “Can we just slip out the back?”

“If you wanna,” he promised. “Or we can go out there and start talking shop. We gotta figure out how we’re gonna get to Willow.”

She turned and looked at him. “Didn’t we try and fail at that plan already?”

“Things have changed. She’s gotta realize the spell opened the Hellmouth. Once she figures out that Buffy jumped, she can’t keep playing like she’s on a mission from God.”

“Yeah, but what if that was her cover story? Maybe she knew it all along and she’s been playing us from the start.”

“Then we kill her,” Dean said simply. “Witch killing bullets work on all types of witches.” He paused. “I’m assuming.”

“And ganking her helps us how, Ducky?”

Dean shrugged. “Takes her out if she’s a threat.”

“What about…_him_?”

“We get Rowena to bring out the Book of the Damned. Have her toddle off to LA and hook up with the Hogwarts Quartet. Maybe the Brits have some ideas. Wonder if Azkaban could hold him with enough firepower.”

“You ain’t out of ideas yet.”

He saw that familiar fire start to burn in her eyes again. One of the many, many things he loved about her.

“Quack, quack, baby.” He smiled. “Slow learning and stubbornness go hand in hand with me.”

She walked up and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “I love that about you,” she whispered.

“Good, because it comes standard with the Dean Winchester greatest hits package.” He gave her one last needy smooch. “Love ya,” he said, unable to keep from saying it over and over—it felt sweeter and stronger every time he said it aloud.

She blushed and he knew every time he did it she assumed he was waiting for her to say it back. Little did she know he’d already given up on that ship ever leaving the harbor. As long as she kept letting him be the only one to board her vessel, he didn’t need anything else.

*~*~*

The last—it couldn’t have just been a week—had been a non-stop emotional rollercoaster, complete with twists, turns, flips, and all the stomach upset a girl could handle. There was so much that Dawn had officially hit the point where she was at maximum overload. Probably why she didn’t lose her shit when fucking Lucifer came into the cantina.

She sent a 911 text to Sam and stood stoically at the bar with Nick and Lorne as the devil belted out a ballad to Faith. Yeah, whatever she thought of Faith, she didn’t think the Slayer deserved _that_. Actually, the past twenty-four hours had done a lot to repair the relationship between them—she just wanted her sister here to do some ‘I told ya so’ dancing.

Dawn’s heart stopped when the song ended and the devil didn’t disappear. Instead, he sauntered right over to the bar, his eyes set on her. “Well, hello there. Ain’t you a slice of _Key_ Lime pie?”

It was almost funny. She was usually always one for a witty comeback. Lucifer scared her speechless. Judging by Nick and Lorne’s lack of response, she knew she wasn’t alone.

Thank god for her tall, dark and handsome moose. He had arrived quicker than she’d expected. “Get the _fuck_ away from her.” There was a dangerous edge to Sam’s voice that made it both intimidating and super sexy. Same went for the look in his eyes—gone was the warmth or broodiness she was used to. The eyes she was looking at now had likely been the last thing many demons and monsters and men had seen—and she felt sorry for them.

“Sammy!” Lucifer chirped as he turned to face him. He gave him a long look before cracking into a full grin. “And they always said Dean was the pie guy. You’ve been nibbling on a slice of Key Lime, ain’t ya?” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Does she taste as good as she looks? Not gonna lie, she smells pretty delicious.”

Sam took an angry step forward, balling his hand into a fist.

“Now, now, now,” Lucifer teased. “Don’t hurt my favorite vessel. Besides that, Faithy already tried that trick and failed.” He looked at Dawn. “Man, can you imagine what I could do to you if I was in his body?”

“Nothing,” Sam countered. “Because it will _never _happen.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Never say never, but for the moment you two ain’t got nothing to worry about. Remember, Sam, I always said you were my favorite. So, I’m hoping you two kids make it work. She can be the _key_ to your heart.” He gave an obnoxious wink to both of them. “Now, after things with me and my honey are all well and good, I may be ready to go open some doors. First things first, where’d Miss Lehane go?”

“You need to leave,” Nick said with a voice that didn’t sound too authoritative.

Lucifer ignored him and remained focused on Sam. “Tell her that I’ll try a little George Michael next time. Didn’t know she wasn’t an Aerosmith fan.” He gave a creepy wink. “Gotta have Faith.”

Dawn released a shaky breath when Lucifer snapped his fingers and disappeared—something she had yet to fully get used to with angels and demons. Turning to Sam, she saw the darkness fade into a grayer sort of concern.

He met her eyes and started walking around the bar. “You okay?”

She went around to meet him. “You?”

They nodded and met on the side and while she went for a hug, Sam grabbed her head in his hands and held her as he crashed his mouth down in hot, hard and needy kiss he hadn’t ever put on public display. And damn if that didn’t turn her on at the worst possible time. Throwing her hands around his neck, she gave him full permission to go ahead and take her then and there.

“Dudes!” Rosalie cried. “What in the _hell_?”

Sam came back to his public persona—serious Watcher with borderline boring personality disorder. He gave Dawn a last quick peck on the lips and whispered, “Sorry.”

She chuckled. “I’m not.” She sighed when he wrapped her in one of his giant hugs.

“Faith and Dean?” Rosalie asked.

“Oh god,” Nick groaned. “I hope she didn’t leave out the back.”

“Let’s go,” Sam said. He looked down at Dawn. “You got Rose and Lorne.” He kissed the top of her head and let her go.

As she watched him and Nick take off to the back, she longed for her sister again. How long until you know a guy’s _the one_? She wanted to have that conversation with Buffy and nobody else.

*~*~*

Sam had only noticed he’d missed a call from Willow after he pulled his phone out to check the time. Kicking himself, he played the voicemail twice just because he couldn’t believe it the first time around.

He was just getting ready to hit the _call back _button when a voice startled him in the empty alleyway.

“Hello, Governor.”

“Jessica?” He looked up in surprise.

“Heard a rumor you were out here. Kinda hoped you could introduce me to the former president. You worked for him, right?”

“Yeah,” he said as he watched her walk out of the shadows with what looked to be a whiskey sour in her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Needed a break,” she said casually. “All of the noise and chatter gives me a headache.” She held out her glass to him. “Looks like you need it more than me.”

With a light snicker, he absently reached out and took it. If anything, it would wash away the taste of the cigarette he’d had minutes ago. “You have no idea,” he said as he took a long sip.

“I think I do,” she said softly. “First, you had that chat with Bartlet. I would have _loved_ to have heard that. Then, you got that _very_ interesting call from Willow.”

Sam had just swallowed a second sip when he choked on what she’d said. “How?”

The sneer Jessica gave was nothing of the pretty woman he’d met before. “My boss really wants to talk to your baby momma. They have some questions about why they only managed to open the Hellmouth for a minute before it shut back down. They were willing to let her play if she was going to keep Lucifer on track, but if she can’t do that _and _now wants to start playing Mrs. Governor… Well, we might have to handle her once and for all.”

“MACUSA?” Sam asked in fear as his head started to throb.

“Wrong.” She smiled and her face shifted. That was when Sam figured out he’d been consorting with a vampire.

“Wolfram and Hart.” His voice sounded slow and wrong to his own ears. Looking down at the cup on his hand, he realized he had been drugged. He dropped the glass and let it shatter on the cement.

“My job is just to give you some _liquid support_ from the guys who still want you to run. My problem is that I kinda like you.” She stepped up and inhaled deeply. “A lot. Makes sense, to be honest. You check all the boxes that would make the old Jessie Spano cream her panties.”

Sam stumbled back and braced himself against the wall. He tried to speak but just mumbled nonsense.

“Wonder if a vampire could make it to president,” she mused.

Sam prayed someone would save him as he tumbled down in unconsciousness.


	72. Chapter 72

Though she and B hadn’t done the heart-to-heart thing but a couple of times, one of the things Buffy had told her about her relationship with Spike was that it was all about equals—being what the other person needed on any given day. When she needed to let loose and have it out, he was there to catch the blows. When he needed to release some rage, Buffy was there to find the appropriate punching bag. She could be weak without worrying about losing her balance because Spike would lend her his strength. He could be an emotional mess and she’d pick up the pieces. They balanced each other out in ways that seemed too perfect at times.

Faith was starting to feel that way about Dean. Well, _starting to _was being a bit coy. She wasn’t sure when she’d noticed how attuned to him he was—perhaps around the time he tried to take out her head with a bottle of Crown—but it was this freaky sixth sense thing. Or seventh, eighth sense, counting her ingrained Slayer senses. The thing was, it worked both ways. Dean had known what she’d needed the night everything had gone to shit on the battlefield, then again after Buffy’s dive, and now.

Which was why she was able to buck up and march back into the bar proper. Whether or not what he’d said was true was beside the point—they still had fuck all idea what to do about Lucifer or what he wanted, but Dean believed in her. And for the moment, that was enough.

Even if she was pretty damn certain she looked like she’d run off to do the sobfest. The skin around her eyes felt stretched and dry, and Nick kept throwing her looks like he was actually fucking concerned, which was unnerving as hell.

“I closed early tonight,” Nick said by way of greeting and gestured to the empty bar. “On account of…well…interference from the devil.”

“Not gonna make you too popular round these here parts,” Faith drawled, pulling up a stool. Nick dutifully slid her the drink she’d never gotten to taste, and she threw it back with enthusiasm before shooting it back across the bar. “Make it a double. Or a triple. Or hell, Nicky, just give me the fucking bottle.”

Nick favored her with a pained look. “You’re not going to pay, are you?”

Dean grabbed the stool beside her and flashed his wallet. “I’m good for it,” he said. “Whatever the lady wants.”

The lady wanted more of what they’d started back in the office, but she decided not to volunteer this information. And she wasn’t even sure if it was sex she wanted or just the comfort of being alone with him. Actually, she was sure. The sex was fucking lit but just being with Dean was the real kicker.

Maybe she was closer to love than she’d thought.

“I’m not too worried about losing clientele,” Nick said a moment later. “Not until another demon bar opens up around here, at least. I have a monopoly on the area.”

Faith took a swig right from the bottle and smirked. “There’s a retirement plan for yours truly. A slayer-run demon bar. Bet my crowds would put yours to shame.”

He sighed. “You can’t let me have anything, can you?”

“I’d drink all my profits anyway.” She handed the bottle to Dean, who threw back a healthy mouthful. “Or he would.”

Dean smacked his lips and handed back the bottle. “You have the best profits, baby.”

“Is that even supposed to make sense?” Sam asked, coming around the other side of the bar to stand by Nick. “And I’m not sure how advisable it is that you both get drunk just yet. We need you lucid to discuss what happened here.”

Faith glared at him and took a long, hard pull at the bottle. “You want me to talk about it, you better get me drunk first.”

The look he gave her was worse than pity. Fuck, she was starting to miss his passive-aggressive bullshit.

“Drink up,” Dawn said, her eyes full of something Faith had never seen there before. “I only got a sliver of the crap he’s been throwing you and I can already tell you there isn’t enough water in the world to wash off the _ew_.”

Well, that was interesting. Faith arched an eyebrow. “He make a play for you, too?”

Dawn shuddered. “More just skeevy comments with heavy Key puns. Sorry, but you’re still his favorite.”

Her stomach dropped. “Lucky me.”

“But that’s a problem,” Sam said, turning his worried gaze to Dawn. “If he knows you’re the Key, then he might come after you next. Can your ability open the door to Hell?”

Dawn crossed her arms. “I don’t know. I mean, probably? It’s nothing we’ve ever experimented with. Willow tried to crack me open but Buffy got there in time—well, Buffy and I guess the whole Hogwarts gang. I just remember her.” She swallowed. “Glory’s plan was to use me to open the door between all worlds, of which there are a lot. Infinite, maybe. And when all realities collide, the universe goes boom.”

Faith shuddered and threw back another swig of the bottle.

“Let’s not give Lucifer any ideas, then,” Dean muttered, and snatched the bottle from her when she released it.

“Odds are he’s already had that idea,” Rosalie put in, taking the seat on Faith’s other side. “Kinda surprised he didn’t do more than that, actually.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dawn deadpanned.

“Well, seriously.” She nodded at Nick. “From what he said, he teleported in and out of here in a flash. Could he have grabbed Faith or Dawn if he wanted to?”

Great. Wasn’t like that thought was going to haunt her dreams or anything. Faith snagged the bottle back from Dean and took three hard swallows. Her alcohol tolerance level was too damn high—she didn’t yet feel the warm glow of a buzz. Might have to go for a second bottle.

“Let’s start with what we know,” Sam said. “Willow opened the Hellmouth. Buffy closed it. For a guy whose plan went up in smoke, Lucifer didn’t seem too upset.” He paused, glanced at Dean. “Though I didn’t get here until the tail-end.”

“If he was pissed, he was hidin’ it well,” Dean agreed, and reached over to rub the small of Faith’s back, as though sensing she needed the touch. Which she did.

“Whatever he might have said to Dawn notwithstanding,” Nick said slowly, throwing her an apologetic look, “it’s fairly obvious that…” He trailed off awkwardly.

Faith gritted her teeth. “Fucking say it.”

Nick gave her another one of those sympathetic puppy-dog looks that made her want to bash in his teeth, then glanced to Dean. “What is the precedent for this?”

Dean blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You’ve known him for a while now. What is Lucifer typically like when he becomes obsessed with a woman?”

The hand at the small of her back stilled, pressing against her as though to steady her. And she knew the answer right off—the thing Dean didn’t want to say.

“I’m the first, aren’t I?” Faith muttered, the words tasting sour. Or maybe that was the hooch. No one said anything. She glanced between Dean and Sam, her irritation rising. “Well fuck, someone say something.”

“It’s…complicated,” Sam said lamely.

“No, it ain’t. Either he’s a pussy hound or I’m the fucking exception.”

“Look, just because he hasn’t been sniffing around girl’s panties in the time we’ve known him, that doesn’t mean you’re the first,” Dean said shortly. “And even if you were, that ain’t on you. We’ve had this conversation, remember?”

Yeah, but how much of that was the truth and how much of it was Ducky hoping it was the truth?

“We’re all just guessing here,” Rosalie put in, dragging Faith’s attention from Dean. “That’s what I’m hearing. We need to know for certain.” She gave Faith a somewhat apologetic look, drew in a breath, then said, “We need to know if it’s a slayer thing or a Faith thing with Lucifer. What his end-game is. So…maybe you ought to talk to the guy?”

The thought, the very suggestion, had Faith’s stomach roiling. For a moment she thought she might vomit.

“Fuck that,” Dean snapped. “His end-game is to be a dick. Case fucking closed.”

Rosalie ignored him, keeping her focus on Faith. “When you first met him, what did he say?”

“A lot of bullshit,” Faith said tersely. “Mostly about having always wanted to meet a slayer and then a fucking guessing game as to which one I was.”

At that, a chill shot down her spine. Lucifer hadn’t been too excited until he’d learned she wasn’t B or Ro. Something she hadn’t told anyone but Dean, and when she felt him begin to work the muscles at her lower back, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

“It’s Chuck,” Dean said before she had to elaborate. “Fucker’s obsessed with anything that has to do with Dad. Him finding out that Faith got tossed back to Earth is what makes her the hot ticket, ‘cause Chuck don’t do shit like that without a reason.”

“Right,” Sam said slowly, “but even assuming that’s the case… I don’t know, Dean. They have a point. We’ve never seen Lucifer being…” He swallowed and made a rolling gesture with his hand. “…sexual with any of his…fixations. At least not to this degree, more than just innuendo and the occasional remark. He’s like most archangels, except Gabriel, of course. Not much on the connections, especially when it comes to humanity. So that he does seem to want to…” He met Faith’s glare. “I’ve never seen him like _this_.”

“Nice, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

“Well, I haven’t, Dean! And neither have you. It doesn’t stop being true just because we don’t like it.” Sam looked back to Faith. “If it was just about you being the Slayer, then he would have made a move before now with, well, any of the slayers throughout history. I agree with Dean that it’s likely tied to the reasons Chuck sent you back, but we don’t know. And maybe we should. The more we know, the better prepared we’ll be.”

Faith tightened her grip on the bottle so much that the glass cracked. “Are you saying I should go on a date with the fucking devil?” And here she and Dean had only had the one date, and only after deciding they were going to be a real couple. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I’d end up getting my ass killed again.”

“He doesn’t want you dead.”

“He would if I hit him enough times.”

“We could do it here,” Hunter piped in, because the fucker didn’t know what was good for him. “Have everyone on deck. Just to…” He wilted a bit under the glare she aimed his way and brought up his hands. “I don’t like it, either! But Sam and Rose have a point. And the sanctuary spell—”

“Fuck this. And fuck you all,” Dean all but snarled. “We don’t know that the sanctuary spell has any fucking effect on Lucy. That fucking ring was supposed to keep the vamps safe, wasn’t it? Well, he lit up Spike twice. Normal rules don’t apply to this motherfucker and they never have, so if your big plan is Faith wines and dines him to get information, I’m tellin’ you it ain’t happening.”

Sam gave him an exasperated look. “Dean—”

“No. End of discussion. Wouldn’t even be a debate if the tables were turned and it was Dawnie and you fucking know it.”

Faith stilled, not sure if Dean recognized how much he’d just revealed about their relationship, but—she decided after a second—also not really caring. Dean loved her and she was thinking more and more that she might love him too, so if Nick and Ro wanted to make their snide little comments, they could. Fuck them.

Sam flicked his gaze to her then back again. “It would be a debate,” he said, and it was obvious he was struggling with the words. “I’d…I’d hate it. I hate even thinking about it, but…we can’t prepare a counterattack if we don’t know what he wants. We knew he wanted the Hellmouth open and the _why _wasn’t too hard to guess. We know he wants Faith but we don’t know why aside from the Chuck connection, but if that was all it was, he wouldn’t be so sexual. This _isn’t _like him.” He brought up his hands. “We need to know more.”

Dean tensed—she felt it, saw it in the hard line of his jaw and the harder look in his eyes. He glared at his brother but didn’t respond. Because, Faith knew, he couldn’t. Sam was shooting straight about this.

“Fucking with Will’s head was one thing,” she heard herself saying. “If that’s… Well, we floated the idea back there that maybe the whole ‘it’s Michael’ bullshit is a story she worked up to make us think she was confused. Only good that’d do her is B and the Potter people would insist on not taking her out. Well, B’s gone and so are the Brits. Everyone who mighta stood in front of her…” This was a digression. She shook her head. “This fucker coming after me to turn me bad again would make sense, but not the way he’s doing it. Wilkins was subtle as fuck—made me feel…” She swallowed, met Dawn’s gaze and looked away again. “Wilkins made me feel for the first time in my fucking life like I mattered. _Me_. Not B or some other slayer—that I wasn’t a fucking stand-in for the thing he really wanted. And damn, that feeling was addictive as fuck.”

There was a long, cold silence. Dean slipped his hand all the way around her waist and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “But we talked about this,” he said in a tone low enough that she thought he meant for only her to hear, even if the others were watching him like fucking hawks. “Ain’t that way anymore, baby.”

Her throat tightened. “I know,” she said, and met his eyes from the corner of hers. “Which is… If this son of a bitch was into me because he thinks I’m a wild card, there’s already a fuckin’ manual out there. Wilkins never came onto me—he was more like my dad. And like I said, it was subtle. Lucy ain’t bein’ subtle.”

“To be fair, I’m not sure he knows how,” Sam said with a soft smile. “And maybe that is all it is—he knows you _are _special because of Chuck and he’s trying to make you latch onto that the same way Wilkins did, only he knows the father-figure angle won’t work.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “And the skeezy barfly one will? Fuck me, Sammy, do you have any idea how many assholes I’ve punched through walls for sayin’ the kinda shit this motherfucker keeps throwin’ at me?”

“You’ve also gone home with a few,” Hunter muttered.

“Nicky, I swear to—”

“I’m just saying, with you, it always depends on your mood. At least it did before…” He shot Dean a quick look and soldiered on. “What one bloke said to you on one night that made you knock his teeth out could get you hot the next night.”

Rosalie dropped her face into her hands. “Really don’t wanna hear this.”

From the way Dean’s fingers were now digging into her side, he didn’t either.

“Look, pretending I don’t know this rubbish is going to do us precisely zero favors,” Nick snapped. “And the point of all this is, we don’t know what his motives are. If it is a sexual thing or if he’s trying to take a page out of Mayor Wilkins’s playbook. All the more reason to try and talk to him. Because I know you, love.” He stared unrepentantly at Faith. “There’s no bloody way you’re going to let yourself stay cooped up _again_, and barring a stroke of brilliance from this lot, we’re short on alternatives. Ignoring him and hoping he goes away won’t work.”

Faith released a long breath, every nerve in her body tightening. She could see the way tide was going, the logic behind it. And damn, it wasn’t like her to want to run and hide from any challenge, even a big nasty baddie like the motherfucking devil. If anything, the fact that her instinct was to hit the road pissed her off. She hadn’t felt this way since her first watcher had been murdered, and she’d done a fuck-ton of work to put the frightened girl she’d been then behind her.

Things were different now. Like she’d told Buffy and Dean, she had reasons. It was easy to stick your neck out when it didn’t really matter if the ax came down.

She turned to Dean. “Can I talk to you a sec?”

He swallowed and nodded, and she saw he’d reached the conclusion the others had too. And he was about as happy about it as she was. Dean looked to the others and slid off the stool, using his grip on her to take her with him. “Excuse us,” he said, and without awaiting a response, pulled her back down the hall to Nick’s office.

As soon as the door was closed and it was just them again, she launched in. “Back when I was Called, there was this vamp. Real nasty son of a bitch by the name of Kakistos. I carved up his face nice and good but didn’t get the slay in, and he killed my first watcher—who was the first and only person who’d given a righteous fuck about me up until that point. That was… It became real to me then, and real scared the shit outta me. So I hightailed it from Boston to SunnyD, and the bastard followed me. B made me own up and face him, ’cause that’s just the sorta bitch she is…but since then, I made a promise to myself not to duck and run. Been good about keepin’ it too, so fighting feels natural, so imagine how much it pisses me off that _this_ asshole makes me wanna hit the fucking road.” She crossed her arms. “Except I don’t ’cause I wanna stay here, so I’m gonna pull on my big girl panties. Ain’t a kid anymore, for one thing, and I got shit here to fight for. The way this shakes out, my options for stayin’ are to keep indoors either here or back home, or face this fucker head-on. And Nick’s right. I am going to be one cranky bitch if it’s Door Number One, ’cause that ain’t no way to live.” A hard breath. “I think I gotta do this. Meet with him.”

Dean just looked at her a moment, his eyes burdened. “I know.”

“Yeah?” Though she’d seen it on his face, she needed to hear him say it. “Not used to running this kinda shit by anyone, Ducky, so I gotta know I’m not stepping in it here.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I hate it. You know I hate it. Hate every goddamn thing about this, but yeah, Kitty. I’m in.” A pause. “I wanna do it here. Meant what I said about us not knowing dick about how the sanctuary spell works on Lucifer, but here’s better than the alternative and we take no chances. I wanna be here too. Want the place fucking packed with us.” He blew out a breath. “Kinda wish Wright and the others hadn’t left now. More muscle the better.”

“Zack and Kelly—”

“We ain’t heard shit from them and there’s no telling if we will again, the way they lit out.” His jaw clenched again. “But yeah, them too, if they can keep their fangs in their mouth. I can call Wright, get his brother’s number. See if they got their demons under enough control to be fucking useful.”

“I’m gonna need to look open to talking to him,” Faith said hesitantly. “Won’t let him touch anything important, but—”

Dean’s eyes darkened. “Faith—”

“Look, if I knock him in the eye because he tries to take my hand, think the cover story will be blown.” She paused, then shrugged. “Granted, it’d get me across the room in a big fat hurry, which I don’t hate. And there’s always the chance that if I’m _too _open to talking to him, it’ll clue him in that something ain’t right. Maybe better to be somewhere in the middle.”

There was a pause. Dean took a step forward. “How’d you work this if I wasn’t in the picture?”

Yeah, he wouldn’t like the answer to that, but she’d already promised herself she wouldn’t lie to him. “Same as I did hunting that dhamp. Shake my ass on the dance floor, get him to come to me. Give him a chance at thinkin’ he could fuck me. Nine times outta ten, thinkin’ they’re gonna score some pussy gets an asshole talkin’.”

Dean blew out a breath. “Fuck.”

“Like I said, Ducky, this is why I needed to run it by you. Not used to…” She looked to the ground, heat rising to her cheeks. “Not used to being a girlfriend. And I don’t wanna fuck this up by making the wrong call.” She paused, her heart thumping hard, then forced herself to go on. “Don’t wanna fucking lose this because of this asshole. Or any asshole. I—”

The next thing she knew, he had her pulled to his chest, cupped the back of her head and drawn her to him in a hot, needy kiss that made her want to crawl inside him and never leave. He had a way of making her brain switch off and every instinct go primal. The fact that it was only getting better wasn’t lost on her.

Dean pulled back, breathing hard, and pressed his brow to hers. “He touches you like that dhamp did and I might lose my head, just warning you.”

The thought made her stomach clench. “I won’t let it get that far. Good at playing hard to get when I wanna.” A pause. “Also, just thinking it makes me wanna heave.”

“Yeah. Me too. But whatever he does, Fay, it won’t be on you. It won’t be anything but a job. I know that.” He gave her his crooked smile. “Though I fucking love it that you wanted to run this by me. Means… Shit, it means a lot.”

“Yeah? So I don’t suck at the girlfriend thing?”

“Oh, baby…” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “I ain’t about to complain about the way you suck.”

Faith rolled her eyes, feeling a great deal lighter, and smacked him upside the head. “Funny ducky.”

“I am dead serious right now.”

“You’re something.” She leaned in to nip at his lips, then pulled back and nodded at the door. “Better go before they send Nick back here with a hose or something. Getting caught making out like fucking teens is somethin’ I think should only happen once a day.”

“See, now _that _sucks.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Still gotta kiss your booboo, right?”

At that, he perked up and turned to follow her back to the main area. “Let’s make this quick,” he said, and placed a hand at the small of her back to propel her forward. “Ducky wanna get lucky. Also…” He tugged her to a standstill again before they could leave the hallway. “Also, occurs to me I haven’t gotten a chance to dance with you, which seems all kinds of wrong. So until he shows up, that ass’ll be shakin’ for me.”

Faith smirked. “Think you can handle it?”

“Baby, there’s nothing I’d like to handle more than your ass.”

“Be a good ducky and it’s all yours.” She leaned in, grinning broader still. “And yeah, I mean that exactly how it sounds.”

He groaned low in his throat. “Fuck, I love you,” he said thickly.

The drive, the urge to give him those words back was so potent she thought she might burst. But when she opened her mouth, her voice refused to cooperate, and she found herself flush with the same fight or flight drive she’d just told him about. Only the fear here wasn’t life-or-death, but something she’d never touched before. Might be what made it so fucking scary.

She was quiet so long she would have felt awkward had he not given her a wink.

“Don’t expect anything. I just like saying it. Now let’s get movin’,” he said, and smacked her ass. “I got plans for this thing.”

*~*~*

Sam awoke with a throbbing headache and a god-awful taste in his mouth. That was the bad news. The good news was he’d awakened, both with a pulse and in a room where he was surrounded by familiar faces. _Friendly _familiar faces. Not the rippled-forehead, fangs-out face of the woman who had attempted to kidnap him. Or kill him. Or both.

“Drink this.” Hermione Granger-Weasley thrust a glass of foul-smelling liquid into his hands. “It tastes good, no matter what your nose tells you, and it will cure the pain in your head.”

He gave the concoction a dubious glance. “I… What…?”

“There was an urgent owl waiting for us from the Ministry,” Hermione explained. “It seems a Nancy McNally had reached out to Kingsley about a conversation you had with Josiah Bartlet. We had just arrived to assess the situation when… Well…”

“That vamp lady tried to take a bite outta you?” Ron Weasley volunteered.

Sam pressed the heel of his palm against his brow. “She’s with Wolfram and Hart.”

“Yes, we gathered that much.” That was a new voice. Ginny Potter came into view, looking fairly irritated. “And if my soft touch of a husband hadn’t used a Shield Charm, we might have gotten to take her out. As it is, she scampered off.”

“I didn’t see she was a vampire,” Harry Potter shot back.

“It’s time to get your prescription checked again, dear,” Ginny said without taking her eyes off Sam. She nodded to the drink. “Seriously, that will clear up your head in a blink.”

It seemed foolish to doubt anything anymore, but the scent rising from the potion made his stomach join the pain party. Still, considering he was here and able to make such a decision—and didn’t have a craving for blood—Sam decided to count himself lucky. He lifted the glass in a mock-toast, held his breath, and downed the contents.

Two things became instantly clear. One: Hermione was seriously underappreciated by not just him and those who knew her, but all the fans of the Rowling books. Two: he should never doubt any of them ever again. Sam had to fight the urge to cry at how good the stuff tasted, suspend his disbelief as his nose contradicted his tastebuds, and keep from begging someone for a second helping.

“That was amazing,” he said as he placed the empty glass aside. “And…do I want to know what’s in it?”

“No,” the four witches and wizards chorused together.

He took that at face-value, willing himself to calm as his mind tracked back through the events that had led to him being in that alleyway. Talking with the president, smoking a damned cigarette—and really, he knew better—then seeing he’d missed a call from Willow—

Sam shot to his feet so fast the room threatened to go sideways. “Willow!” he bellowed.

“Crikey, what now?” Ron asked, dragging a hand down his face. “Not sure I’m up for another round with her just yet.”

“No, she…” He jerked his phone out of his pocket. “She called me. Said she wanted to be a family.” He hadn’t imagined that, had he? The thought that he might have had tears stinging his eyes, but no, the voicemail was there, and when he hit _play_, the words sounded right. Willow telling him she missed him, wanted him, that the past was past and he was her future. All the things he’d been hoping to hear in the months they’d been apart. He dragged his gaze up to look at the others, verify that they’d all heard the same.

“Brilliant,” Ginny drawled, flopping back onto a couch. It occurred to him then that he had no idea where they were and would need to go home soon. Or at the very least get in contact with his security team to reassure them that he had not been kidnapped. “The stupid bird is off to do more magic.”

“She’ll listen to me,” Sam said, bringing up her contact information. “I’ll tell her I was attacked tonight. I don’t remember everything Jessica said, but she definitely confirmed that Willow is running with the devil.”

“Cheers to that, mate,” Ron replied dryly. “Bloke has her convinced that everyone who says that has had their brains scrambled. She thought _we _were on Lucifer’s side.”

“But this is different,” he said with more hope than conviction, but dammit, he couldn’t be talked down. “This didn’t come from you or Dean Winchester or Buffy Summers—”

“Buffy’s gone,” Harry said solemnly.

At that, Sam’s stomach dropped and he shot his head upward. “What?”

“Willow opened the Hellmouth, whatever she thought she was doing,” Hermione said. “And Buffy… Well, she jumped inside it to close it. A demon the Winchesters know called Crowley believed, apparently rightfully so, that Buffy would survive the leap thanks to her own demon blood and the ring she received from the Ministry. But she hasn’t been recovered yet. I believe her mate was planning on going in after her.”

Well, that took the wind out of his sails. Sam sank back into his seat, his brain buzzing. He didn’t know Buffy all that well—well, not at all, really, save for the things Willow had told him and the memories she’d shared with that overload. But he knew she was one of Willow’s best friends, someone she loved like a sister. There was no way Willow would have done anything to knowingly hurt Buffy.

This was it. The smoking gun. It would devastate Willow to learn what had happened to her friend, to learn she was responsible, but it would convince her. It _had _to.

“It’ll be what convinces her,” Sam muttered to the room, looking again to the phone in his hand. “I’ll tell her exactly that. What happened tonight and what happened to Buffy. She’ll listen to me.”

The quartet of magic-users exchanged another series of glances that did nothing for his confidence.

Harry finally nodded. “Hope you’re right, mate. We could use some good news right about now.”

*~*~*

When she slept, she looked…well, human. Just like all the others. Small and fragile. Unimportant. Boring. It would be so easy to kill her now, and don’t think he wasn’t tempted. Especially knowing what she could do to him once she was a bit more conscious.

But there was still work to be done. Just a bit more before he could wash his hands of the bitch witch. And while Lucifer could certainly be impulsive on occasion, he’d learned that the best things come to those who wait.

Things like Faith Lehane and the marvelous wonder she was going to bring about with that body of hers.

Lucifer was still watching the sleeping Willow, making a mental list of all the ways he’d make her scream when the time came, when her phone lit up on the nightstand, a certain governor’s face bright on the display screen.

Well, that couldn’t be good.

He plucked up the phone and silenced the ringer. The little bitch was dead to the world, thankfully, and the few bars of her ringtone that had touched the air hadn’t changed that at all. He gave the redhead one last look, then vanished from her room and to one with a bit more privacy. Whatever this was, he didn’t want to be interrupted.

Lucifer smirked to himself as he moved to accept the call. “Sam?” he said in Willow’s voice.


	73. Chapter 73

He was a stupid dumbass. What guy finishes making love to the woman he’s been lusting after for months, just to let his mind trail back to trying to out maneuver the devil?

Sam fucking Winchester.

“Sabrina,” he muttered as an idea popped in his head.

“The _fuck_?” Dawn said, bolting upright. She scrambled to cover her breasts with the bedsheet.

“Huh?”

“Fuck you,” Dawn growled as she turned to leave the bed.

“_Oh shit!_” he gasped as he realized his folly. Reaching out, he grabbed her and tugged her down against him. “Dawnie, no.” Sam chuckled. “My sister? Come on!”

She fought to pull herself away. “Your sister? For all I know, she’s an ex-girlfriend.”

“Stop.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Dawn, I didn’t just say another girl’s name in bed.”

She stopped fighting him then. “You literally did.”

“Not like _that_,” he snapped. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Though not sure saying I was lying here thinking about Lucifer really sounds any better.”

She rolled over to face him with a huff. “Not really.” She arched a brow. “Am I boring? I know I’m not a demon or even that experienced. I mean, I’m _not _a virgin, but I’m not some wild, kinky kinda girl like Faith or a—”

He launched forward and captured her lips in a long, deep kiss. He did his best to show her how much he really didn’t find her boring. Slowly, he pulled back and gave her lip a teasing nip. “Dawnie, you’re _perfect_. Just…perfect.” He sighed and furrowed his brow. “I’m the freak.”

She gave him a warm smile. “No, you aren’t.” Then she rolled her eyes. “You’re just a big ole Big Bird who probably feels guilty because he just wasted precious minutes from saving the world by boinking me.”

Damn. She was always one to get to the quick of it all. He must have worn his reaction on his face because she snickered. “Can’t deny it.” She leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. “One of your more endearing—and really annoying—qualities.”

“Sorry,” he replied with a wince.

“Let’s get back to it, shall we? Sabrina. What about her?”

Sam nodded. This was the best part of this thing with Dawn—she really got him. It was something he hadn’t truly had since…well, Jessica. But even Jessica hadn’t been complete. He’d never told her the truth about his past—not the key _hunter_ part. Dawn knew him better than any woman had. And it was weird that she hadn’t run and saved herself, yet. “Sabrina’s a witch,” Sam said as he tried to pull his thoughts from the fact that he inevitably needed to break up with Dawn once everything settled and Buffy was home.

“Yup,” Dawn quipped.

“I mean, Sabrina is a witch who may be useful if Willow tries to interfere with the plan. We use Rowena inside and Sabrina outside.”

“So you want her to come? What about Wes?”

“Shit.” Sam groaned. “I forgot.”

“Yeah, pretty sure if she comes, he is going to be close behind. Really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No,” he agreed. “But what if they’re here, but not _here_?”

“You really think Faith or Rose or even Dean will be able to concentrate knowing the last guy who tried to murder them is outside while the current dude is in the room?”

“What if… What if we don’t tell them?” he asked slowly.

Dawn cringed. “Ugh. I do not like the deception game, Sammy.”

“Not deception…more omission?” The argument sounded terrible to his own ears. “I just mean that we can make it clear they aren’t exactly welcome. But this is the best option aside from calling Harry and them back. Two witches, two slayers, two vamps—possibly—Cass, Lorne and us. It makes the most sense.”

Dawn grunted. “Still don’t like it.”

“Not a fan either, but you know it’s our best shot.”

“It wouldn’t be if Buffy was here.” She sniffed and blinked back tears and Sam’s heart broke.

“Look, I have an idea on that, too. As soon as we do this meetup with Lucifer, I’m going to go talk to Cass about him possibly going down to Hell himself.”

Dawn’s eyes grew wide and round. “He can do that?”

Sam nodded. “He pulled Dean and I both out.” He favored her a weak smile. “He just forgot my soul in the cage.”

She nodded. “Right. So you think he could find her? Spike too?”

“I think so, yeah. I just wasn’t sure about Cass leaving when we still had Lucifer to deal with.”

“But if we confirm that Lucifer is actually crushing Faith and doesn’t want her dead…”

“Then that should buy us the time for him to go bring Buffy and Spike home.”

“I love it,” Dawn gushed as he saw her look the closest to happy since she’d first learned Buffy had jumped. Then she frowned. “Dean will veto. Even if Lucifer doesn’t want Faith dead, if he _wants_ her—”

“We got to look at the bigger picture. Faith dodging Lucifer’s creepy come-ons is nothing compared to Hell. Once we get Buffy and Spike home, we have two more to help take him down. Plus Rowena and the Hogwarts gang and even Sabrina can come up with a plan to put Lucifer back in the cage, it will all work out.”

“When does it all work out?”

“This time,” he said hopefully.

She kissed him and he sensed another round of guilt coming up before long. As she rolled over to straddle his hips, he decided he could live with it.

*~*~*

“Willow!” Sam cried as he heard her voice. “I have so much I need to tell you. First off, _yes_. Yes, I want it all too—I want _you_. I want _us_. I spoke to President Bartlet and he thinks we can have a family _and _our careers. Not sure of the specifics, but—”

“Sam,” Willow said. “I’m _busy_ right now.”

“About that, honey,” Sam said hesitantly. “There’s things you need to know. I have the proof that it’s really Lucifer and not Michael whose been tricking you all along.”

“Oh really?”

“You opened the Hellmouth, Will. I’m not sure how you didn’t know it, but you did. And the only reason it closed was because Buffy…” He swallowed hard. “Buffy jumped in to close it.”

“Buffy? No! Buffy is a vampire!” she cried.

“Look, I don’t claim to know how this shit all works. All I know is that I have your friends from England right here and they told me that Buffy went to Hell. They think she survived the fall, but I know you want to make this right. I know it was all an accident and we can fix all this together.”

“You?” she scoffed. “You are nothing. No, you’re less than nothing.”

“W-Willow?” he stammered. That didn’t sound like the voicemail at all.

“The only reason you’re around is because the condom broke. If I’d used my fucking _magic_ like a smart girl, I never would have let myself get knocked up.”

Something inside him told himself the truth—this wasn’t Willow. “Who knocked on the door the other night?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who knocked on the door to my room when you, me, and Oz were alone?”

“What a stupid question.”

Sam gasped. “Lucifer?” he whispered as terror enveloped him even stronger than when he’d been attacked earlier.

“Keep the baby, but lose the number, Sammy. Momma’s found herself a new sugar daddy and the only kid he wants around is his own. So go do something productive and kill yourself.”

The line went dead and Sam hated himself for even wondering if there was a chance that had actually been Willow. It had been her voice. But that didn’t sound like the woman he loved—the woman who had left him that voicemail.

“Guys,” he heard himself say. “I think we gotta thing.”

*~*~*

Dean couldn’t sleep. Even after getting home and having another earth-shattering round of bedroom aerobics—holy shit, he’d now hit all the bases with her—he couldn’t shut his brain off and get some rest. He’d only managed to doze long enough for Kitty to crash. Which was had him slipping off to the kitchen for a beer and some laptop time.

It had started off innocent enough. He turned on some music and began surfing the web. When a familiar Seger song came on, he started thinking of Faith. Then he’d thought about the perfect Zeppelin song for her. Then he’d started thinking about what other songs perfectly captured how he felt about her.

It’d been a while since he’d played with making a mixtape. Truth was he’d never made a playlist on CD before. It seemed like a good challenge to occupy his mind.

He kinda lost himself in the process. It was a mission—something he needed desperately to calm his nerves. Dean needed to _do_ something. Right now, he could do this.

_“Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover.”_

Yeah, that one was going on the list. He opened up a blank document page and started making a list.

“I love this song.”

Dean looked up to find his mom leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as she watched him. “Granted, I love all The Beatles songs.”

“Yeah,” he said with a hint of a smile, turning down the volume. “I remember.”

She walked into the room and sat down beside him. “Why are you still awake?”

He gave her a scowl. “You’re awake.”

“Just got home. What’s your excuse?” She eyed the screen. “‘All My Love’ by Zepplin. ‘Something’ by The Beatles. ‘Wonderful Tonight’ by Clapton.” She grinned. “Dean? Are you making a list of love songs?”

“What?” He scoffed and slammed the laptop shut. “No!”

Her smile softened. “You and Faith are more serious than you’ve been letting on.” He could tell it wasn’t a question. “So tell me, have you told her how you feel or are you still trying to pretend it’s the world’s longest hookup?”

Looking his mom in the eyes, he realized he couldn’t lie. He swallowed. “I have.”

“Well, it’s about time you did something right,” she teased lightly.

He didn’t know what compelled him. “Mom,” he choked as he felt tears stinging his eyes. “Mom, I love her.” He didn’t know if admitting it to someone else made him feel better or worse.

“I know,” she said thickly as she took his hand. “I see it in the way you look at her, Dean. You’re not as hard to read as you think. At least not to me.”

“I’m scared. All this… Not just Lucifer, but _all_ this. I don’t think I’ve been here before. Not really.”

“It’s fucking terrifying,” she agreed and gave his hand a squeeze. “I know. Demon? Monsters? None of that compares to the fear of getting your heart ripped out and not dying.”

He had to chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Once or twice in your life, you meet someone and it just…happens. And you can try and fight it, but what’s the point? Part of what makes us human is love. If we fight to give everyone else the chance, shouldn’t we do the same?”

Something clicked in that moment—the Dean who wasn’t just some shallow petulant boy. “You love him, don’t you?” He knew he didn’t have to say his name.

“I do,” she said softly. Then she shook her head and laughed. “And trust me when I say it doesn’t make a lot of sense. In almost every way he’s the opposite of your father—at least the way I remember him.” He nodded and she continued, “And I want you to know that I will always love your father. He was everything to me and more. He gave me love and a life and the chance to try and live a normal life and he was exactly what I wanted and needed then.”

“But you never stopped hunting. You hid it from him and it was costing you your marriage.”

It wasn’t until he saw the shock on her face that he remembered he’d learned that through eavesdropping. She gave him a long look before releasing a defeated sigh. “Yeah. It was one of my many mistakes. And if I could go back, I’d do it differently.” She paused. “I want to say I’d do everything differently, but I don’t know, Dean. I try to replay that night I made the deal and all I can think about is you and Sam and how I don’t know how I could live without you two in it.”

He understood. Sometimes the good overshadowed a lifetime of bad. Without that deal, none of this would exist. He’d never have met Faith.

“John was what I needed then, but Rupert is what I need now.”

“Really?” He hadn’t meant to sound so skeptical. “I mean—”

“He’s in the life, but isn’t a typical hunter. He knows well enough to handle a case, but he doesn’t get greedy about handling all the dirty work. He doesn’t feel threatened by me like most men do. Plus, he’s smart and funny and when I talk, he listens. He understands the life I’ve lived and the life I want now. And I’m just happier when I’m with him more than when we’re apart.”

“Yeah.” In a nutshell, that was pretty much how he felt about Faith.

“And while it hasn’t been long, I think it’s been long enough. At least long enough to realize it isn’t going to just go away. Not naturally at least.” She smiled. “And ain’t none of us getting any younger waiting for the world to stop going crazy.”

“God, that’s the truth,” he said with a sigh. He arched an eyebrow and gave her a look. “So are you gonna start wearing the ring or does he need to ask your oldest son for a blessing first?”

His mom’s eyes grew wide before narrowing into slits. “You spied on us talking.”

Dean flashed a guilty smile. “Not on purpose.” A pause. “At first.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t need your permission, Dean Michael Winchester.” She gave a somber look. “Though I would like your blessing.”

He bit his lip to keep from starting the waterworks again. “Just do me a favor and not tell him. Consider it thirty-three birthday and Christmas presents rolled into one.”

“Dean.” She giggled.

“Not too long, I promise.” He gave her a pleading look. “It’s this or a pony.”

She cackled at that. “I’m tempted to go find the pony just to see you ride it.”

“Mom,” he whined, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Don’t be too mean. A week,” she warned. “That’s the deal.”

“Awesome.” At least he’d have a little fun while waiting on a break in trapping Lucifer back in the cage.

He felt his mom kiss his head. “Come on,” she said before tugging him up from the chair and handing him his laptop.

“What?” he asked, bemused.

“I’m doing something else I owe you—tucking you in.” She took his hand and started leading him down the hall.

“That’s…well, I ain’t gonna lie. The repressed child in me really likes the sound of that. The grown man who knows his girlfriend’s naked in his bed is kinda weirded out.”

She nodded and hummed ‘Hey Jude’ as they walked to the door of his room. She pulled him to her in a hug complete with a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Dean,” she whispered. “Go to sleep, son.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Goodnight, Mom.” He felt a tear fall as he turned and slipped in the room. They hadn’t shared too many real mother/son moments since she’d come back. He needed it tonight.

Quietly, he set the computer down and stripped off to crawl back in bed. Faith didn’t wake up fully, but did roll over and snuggle against him as he pulled the blanket up and around them. “Ducky,” she moaned as she nuzzled her cheek on his chest.

“Kitty,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. Closing his eyes, he focused on her—her smell, her warm skin pressed against his flesh, her soft and even breaths as she drifted back to a deep slumber—and he hummed ‘Hey Jude’ until he drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*

Giles knew Mary would be kicking his ass shortly one way or another. Truth was this was something he had to do by himself—it would be safer for everyone this way. After getting out of the car, he went and knocked on the door.

The irony was it had been Willow’s idea to attach a spell to each of the rings to make them trackable—it had been one of the passing thoughts she’d had after Buffy and Zack had been kidnapped a few months back by Wolfram and Hart. “Simpler times,” he muttered under his breath as he knocked once more.

He ended up working the magic up on his own after Willow had her mental breakdown. At the time, he’d assumed it would only be helpful if Wolfram and Hart tried another one of their schemes. Never in his wildest nightmares had he imagined a scenario as tragic as this—his daughter was literally trapped in Hell.

Finally, the door opened and Zack stood in the doorway and Giles couldn’t help but gasp. In the pale moonlight, the man before him was far from his usual self—his skin was pastier than usual and his eyes were duller and surrounded by dark circles. He almost looked like a junkie who was in need of a fix, but Giles understood. “You haven’t fed,” he said in greeting.

Zack shook his head. “Kelly,” he cleared his throat. “We didn’t want to go outside.” He looked down to his wrist where Giles noted a scabbed slit across it. “Stupidly tried to heal her faster with my blood. Doesn’t work the same for a couple of non-slayer vamps.” He shrugged absently. “She’s doing better.”

“Is she?” Giles asked softly. “Let me inside, Zackary.”

Zack didn’t move. “Not sure I advise that at the moment. She’s better, but…” A dark shadow crossed his eyes. “Dean shot her. Twice.”

Giles acknowledged the information with a curt nod. He’d heard all this from Dawn and Sam. “I believe it was deemed necessary at the moment. She’d hurt Dawn and Faith and Rosalie was next.” He sighed. “Nobody wanted to hurt her, but she had to be stopped before she did something she couldn’t be saved from.”

The look Zack gave him told him he understood—if she’d taken a life, she would have been put down. That was the reality Zack lived with as well. Their survival was dependent on keeping their demons in check. This had been the first slip for any of them that hadn’t involved a soul extraction or other extreme circumstances.

“Zack,” Kelly’s voice called out from the darkness behind him. “Let him in.”

The vampire swallowed and gave Giles a hesitant look before opening the door wide enough for the man to enter. With a steely breath, Giles accepted the invitation and walked inside.

“Tell them I’m sorry,” she spoke in a strangled whisper. “Tell then I never meant—”

“Tell them yourself,” Giles said in a gentle, but stern manner. “You both are needed now. Lucifer knows Dawn is the Key. While he currently seems more fascinated with Faith, we have to prepare ourselves for that to change any time.” He paused. “You both owe Buffy that.”

“Buffy will hate me,” Kelly lamented.

“No one hates you, sweetheart,” Giles assured. “No one, but yourself.” He turned to where he assumed Zack was standing—he couldn’t see much of anything in the room with all the curtains fastened shut. “The others are devising a meeting between Faith and Lucifer at the cantina. You both need to be there in case the sanctuary warnings fail. Protect Faith, but _save_ Dawn. That’s what Buffy and Spike need you to do until they’re home.”

There was a long silence and Giles momentarily considered the danger he’d placed himself in by coming to face two emotionally damaged and hungry vampires—the souls and the love he had for the pair were his only comforts.

“Kel?” Zack asked after a time.

“Okay,” she replied at long last.

Giles sighed. “Good. Come on, then.”

“Ugh…” Zack said hesitantly. “Not sure that’s the best idea.”

Giles rolled his eyes. “You two can survive the car ride to the bunker. There’s still blood there.”

“Okay, but did you notice I’m in my underwear? Kelly is too. Our clothes were…well, kinda ruined.”

“Modesty is the least of our worries at the moment,” Giles responded. “Grab a towel or something,” he added.

“Well, this is gonna be awkward,” Zack declared.

“You’re not the one who gets to explain how a trip to the fueling station resulted in two half-naked vampires to their fiancé.” He groaned slightly at the realization he’d just broken the promise to keep his and Mary’s secret quiet. Damn, he was exhausted.

“Did you just say—” While he appreciated the Kelly-like bubble in her voice, he still cut her off.

“I said _nothing_. Let’s keep it that way for the time being.”

“Heh,” Zack retorted. “So if you and Mary get together, it really does kinda make Dawn and Sam stepsiblings.” He chuckled. “Spike is going to have a field day.”

“Yes, well, let’s save that for when they’re home shall we?” he grumbled as he turned toward the door.

“Can I tell him? Please let me tell him.”

“Zackary, do not make me stake you. I’m tired and I haven’t shot Castiel today.”

The drive to the bunker was brief and spent mostly talking about Rosie and William and their continuing vacation in England. Zack had at least composed himself quick enough to contact the kids earlier in the day. They were still blissfully unaware—as long as the littlest Seer didn’t start receiving any visions.

Giles was not at all surprised to find Mary waiting in the garage when they pulled in—currently she was sitting atop Dean’s Impala. The look she gave him was more annoyed than outright angry. He hoped he could be spared the worst of the lecture until after a few hours sleep.

“Gas, huh?” she called out as he opened the door.

“In my defense—”

“Wrong word choice.” She looked to the vampires and her eyes went wide. “Did you kidnap nearly naked vampires?”

Zack gave her a smile. “Figured that would be a Winchester kinda thing.”

She gave a humorless chuckle. “No, Winchesters use dead man’s blood and chop off heads. You California vamps are the weird ones.”

“Blood,” Kelly’s fangs began to descend at the word. She covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Go,” Giles said as he gave Zack a nod.

As the couple moved inside, Mary slid off the hood of the car. She kept her frown in place as she walked up to him and laid a hand on each of his shoulders. “I almost felt sorry for you, Rupert.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Almost.”

“Mary?” He was nervous now.

“Shouldn’t have lied.” She leaned over and kissed him as he opened his mouth to protest. “Yes, that’s what I’m calling it. Gas my ass.” She grabbed his hand and started walking inside the bunker.

“So why do you _almost_ feel sorry for me?”

The look she gave him was downright evil. “Dean knows.”

“Dean…” It clicked. “_Dean knows?_”

“Yup.” She kept on walking.

“And he said what?”

“That he ain’t lettin’ it happen until you get his permission.”

Giles stopped and scoffed. “And you told him that you are a grown woman and don’t need his permission?”

“Well, I told him I want his blessing.”

He heard the laughter in her voice. This was payback. “You’re making me do this, aren’t you?”

“Remember this little life moment next time you decide to slip off with a lie.” She flashed him a wink.

Winchesters. Summers. He had a bad habit of loving the most obnoxious women.


	74. Chapter 74

“Well, dove, I have good news and bad news.”

God, she just wanted this all to stop. Buffy had officially hit the point where she thought dusting might be the better option. There were moments, slivers of seconds stolen here and there, where the only things keeping her from leaping onto the nearest stake right now were pride, stubbornness, and her tie to Spike. She felt him now through the bond more potently than she ever had, though sometimes she wondered how much of that was her imagination combined with wishful thinking, and how much was real. But the more time past—and time truly had lost all meaning here—the more she thought it had to be real. She kept experiencing swells of emotion that didn’t feel like her own. Frustration, resentment, bone-crushing grief and blood-burning anger. And love. She felt that too.

There was also the urge, the need, to make Crowley bleed. No, scream. And that urge was all hers. Angelus had done a lot of damage to her, but he hadn’t literally pried her chest open to search her insides. He hadn’t attempted to rearrange those insides, either. Crowley deserved every bit of the fury and wrath he had coming to him, and she wanted to be the one to give it.

“I say, did you hear me, Slayer?” Crowley pulled back the bag of blood he’d waved in front of her face following this last soul-extraction attempt. She’d learned if she acted weaker than she felt, he’d feed her more. Only there were moments, like this one, where it wasn’t an act. “I said I have good news and bad news. Which would you prefer first?”

Buffy forced her eyes open and the smug bastard’s face came into view.

“Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll start with the good,” he said cheerfully. “Though, good is a bit of a misnomer, I suppose. I have concluded that it is indeed impossible to remove your soul, therefore the trials will cease, effective immediately.” He brought the blood bag back to her mouth—rich, healing, and human—and she sank her fangs into it without ceremony. “The bad news is…well, I’m still keeping the soul, dear. Which means you are never seeing the world outside of this office again. I hate to disappoint, but my house, my rules. Understand I did do everything I could to make it otherwise. If you’d like someone to blame, I suggest starting with Chuck. Or the Powers That Be. Whatever you kids are calling the Divine these days.”

Buffy finished draining the bag and pulled away, panting deep, unneeded breaths, and glanced down at her torn skin. The incision where he’d cut her chest open was still there, growing fainter by the second, but she thought it possible she’d feel the pull of her bone and muscle there for the rest of her days.

“I will be providing clothing,” he said, though when she glanced up, she saw his eyes lingered a moment on her exposed breasts. “And all the blood you can drink, bagged or fresh from the tap—I’ll let you decide. And if you are a very good girl, I might let you a bit more mobility. If you are anything like your mate, standing still is tantamount to torture.” He paused, then grinned. “But not quite, right?”

Buffy glared at him but didn’t speak. She would give him nothing.

“I think you’ll find, rocky start aside, that I am not an ungracious host,” Crowley continued as he moved away. “In fact, you may well grow to like me.”

Yeah. She’d _like_ her fangs in his throat, her hands digging through his chest and ripping out his insides. She’d like that quite a bit.

“Let’s see how you do with this…” Crowley set the drained blood bags into his waste bin, then turned back to her and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the binds keeping her arms stretched vanished, and she tumbled to the ground. The shackles returned just as quickly around her wrists and ankles, but she couldn’t deny the rush of relief on her strained, abused muscles at the change in position.

“You smell rather ripe, my dear,” he continued. “I’m going to escort you to my private shower. You will have an hour to yourself, and then may dress in any of the items you find in the adjoining suite. If you attempt to run, I will unfortunately be forced to dust that oaf of a mate of yours. Since you’re having trouble finding your tongue, do us a favor and nod if you understand.”

Debating how demon blood would taste once she made her break for it, Buffy nodded.

Crowley beamed. “Excellent.” He pulled her to her feet. “Then shall we?”

*~*~*

Wesley studied the name flashing across the screen of Sabrina’s phone, his gut twisting with misgiving. His first instinct was to reject the call outright—Sabrina was in the town nearby, after all. It was her night to shower and collect their evening meal. He hated it that she left at all, but she took his insistence that he assume the bulk of the risk very much the way every other woman in his life had. That was to say, not well.

She didn’t take her phone with her on these excursions—if there was trouble, she’d send a Patronus.

Something he doubted very much either of her brothers would appreciate.

And the damn phone was still ringing. Wes heaved a sigh and swiped to accept.

They didn’t have to like that their sister was out there. He certainly didn’t.

“Hello.”

There was a silence on the other end, accompanied by heavy breathing. Then, “Is this Wes, then?”

“I will not identify myself until you do. You called me, after all.”

“No, I called my sister. I think I have a right to know who’s picked up her phone.”

“Quite proprietary over a sister you’ve never met.”

“This is Sam Winchester. Sabrina Deanne is my sister. Now tell me this is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and explain why the hell you have her phone.”

Wesley released a long breath. “Yes,” he said, sinking onto one of the rather uncomfortable, rickety chairs. “This is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Sabrina never takes her phone with her when she goes into NoMaj territory. Precaution, you see. In case she is captured.”

“You let her go into NoMaj territory by herself? Dude, you’re not improving on the things I’ve heard about you.” 

Yes, he could only imagine. “Mr. Winchester, with all due respect, you don’t know your sister. There is little I can do to stop her if she decides to just bloody Apparate, which sometimes she will do if she feels I am being overprotective. I’m not the one with a bloody wand.”

A brief silence. “That’s a good point. Uhh, where are you guys?”

“I believe that falls under the purview of information you ought not have.” He paused, something occurring to him. “I never verified this was Sam Winchester. You might be a MACUSA agent attempting to ferret our location. So I will ask you…what shape does Sabrina’s Patronus assume?”

“Uhh, a moose. But—”

“But the bloody government would have that written down in her file. Bugger.” Wesley wracked his head for another tidbit, but it wasn’t like he knew this man at all. He’d spent very little time in either of the Winchesters’ company before, and wasn’t even sure which was which.

“Sorry, another question. Zack Wright was part of the group that infiltrated Wolfram and Hart in order to rescue the vampires Zack and Kelly Morris, his daughter, and retrieve the bracelet. True or false.”

“Zack Wright’s face came, but Ron Weasley was wearing it. True or false, you attempted to murder my slayer.”

Wesley’s eyes fell shut. So this was the one who was with Faith now. “Is she all right?” he asked in a small voice. “Is she…happy?”

“All right, yes. Happy? Touch and go. She’s shelved the attitude for the moment, but she’s pretty pissed that the senior slayers keep assuming the largest challenges. Well, and her father didn’t help.” There was a long sigh. “Pretty sure Nick is getting the brunt of her frustration, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

The jumble of information was so overwhelming it took a few prolonged seconds for Wesley to make sense of anything he’d just heard. As long as he’d known her, Faith’s father had been absent from her life. “So…Faith and Nick have resumed their…arrangement?”

“Huh? No, Nick is Rosalie’s boyfriend. Faith’s with my brother, Dean.”

“Then how is Rosalie _your slayer_?”

“I’m her watcher.”

“Nick isn’t her watcher anymore?”

“No, because he’s her boyfriend.”

God, Wesley’s head was starting to pound. “Well, that’s… Things have certainly changed. But to answer your question, it is true that I…attempted to kill Rosalie. But I had no idea that what I was doing would result in her death. If I had known—”

“Wes, that’s not an argument I’d advise making. I’ve been a watcher for less than three months and…you can’t remove these girls from the part of them that is the Slayer.” A breath. “Look, I… This is so not the reason I called. Or the person I wanted to talk to. But if you’re still with Sabrina when we get to meet her, then… I’d just be prepared to not be the most popular person. You hurt Rose really bad—more than I think anyone knows except Nick and I. She really thought of you as family. You _were _family, and using the memory of someone she loved to put her in danger, even if that wasn’t your intent, made her feel insignificant and disposable. That’s just something you’re going to have to reckon with.”

Wesley breathed out, his chest aching with the exertion and a hard pressure stinging his eyes. “I know,” he said, feeling those two words with every fiber of his being. “I have so much to… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make it up to her. I love that girl like she was my own and what I did, motives aside, was unforgivable. To her and to Fred. Fred deserved better from me.” He paused, then decided he couldn’t pretend he didn’t want to know. “And Faith?”

“What about her?”

“Is she… How is she back? Is she all right? Is she…” Another pause. “Is she happy?”

“The how is a need-to-know,” Sam replied coolly. “All right… Yes, I think she’s all right. I don’t know her well enough to say one way or another, and we’ve had some heated arguments about, well, my brother. But—”

“Is he good to her?”

A long beat stretched through the line. “I think so. I mean, a couple of days ago she told me something that would make me say _no _were it anyone but the two of them, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. She’s very protective of him and he loves her. I don’t know if he even knows that yet, but I’ve never seen him like this around anyone else and it’s…strange.”

Wesley wasn’t sure what to make of that, if it was good news or bad, if she was happy. But it didn’t matter the next second, for there was a hard _crack _and suddenly Sabrina was beside him, holding a greasy sack that smelled heavily of fried food.

“Sorry,” she said. “Couldn’t find any fancy foreign food tonight, so you’ll have to make do with a burger and why are you on my phone?”

Wesley stared at her for a moment before thrusting the phone toward her. “It’s your brother,” he said. “Sam.”

Sabrina visibly paled, her gaze shooting to the device as though it were a snake about to bite her. She looked from it to him to it again, then released a long, shaky breath. “My brother called?” she asked, her voice a pitch higher than usual. “Sam?”

“Sabrina?” sounded through the little speaker, loud enough for them both to hear.

“Holy fuck nuggets.” The sack of food plummeted to the ground as she snatched away her mobile. “Sam?” she asked. “Sam Winchester? As in my brother Sam Winchester? Oh my god, you’re a real person.” She barked a laugh, those vivid eyes of hers shining now with tears. “I dunno, I guess I thought… It still doesn’t seem real. Oh my god, I’m talking to my brother. Sorry, yes, I’ll get over it…well, never, but I’ll get composed here in a sec. Breathe, Sabrina. Okay. So…what’s up, big bro?”

Wesley smiled as he bent to collect the sack off the floor, the part of him that had been aching just seconds ago flooding now with warmth.

At that moment, as she talked and laughed with the voice on the other end of the connection, she looked more beautiful than she ever had.

And he was so terrified he was falling in love with her he could hardly breathe sometimes. Because if there was one thing he definitely didn’t deserve, it was another chance at happiness. Yet she could make a man want the impossible. Crave it.

Even with the reminders of his sins out there, still reeling from the hurt he’d caused. And the many miles he had to go to make up for it.

*~*~*

Faith wasn’t sure when the bunker had started feeling like home, but it did. In ways no other place ever had, not even the Hyperion, which had been the closest thing to an actual home she’d ever had. It was hard to remember she’d only been here what amounted to a couple of weeks, too. So much in her life had changed, and not just that she’d kicked the bucket and been sent back again. But as she navigated her way toward the kitchen, she found herself doing something she’d never done before—thinking about the future.

About how many more mornings she might tread these halls from the room she shared with Dean to grab breakfast. How many times she and Dean would trade off doing each other’s laundry, or hit the road in the Impala for some job. How many times they’d share showers or fall asleep after wearing each other out or talking until words stopped making sense. He said he loved her and, while she wasn’t a pro at this kinda thing, she thought that might mean he wanted to keep her around for a while. Maybe even forever. Which, yeah, heady as fuck but also…

A smile tugged at her lips as she set about making coffee. Turned out Faith Lehane might be the settling down type. Never woulda thought.

Not that there would be much settling or downtime with Dean. And that was what would make them work.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood,” came a voice from behind as Rosalie traipsed in. “I seriously have never seen you so smiley this freakin’ early.”

“Got a hot date tonight. Not much to not be psyched about.” Faith turned to size up the girl, not at all in the mood to have the fight she knew Ro was just itching to have. The girl was still pissed about having won the Slayer Lotto and given that she was currently the lust object of the freaking devil, Faith was fresh out of fucks to give. That these were the girl’s hang-ups would never not piss her off, or make her burn with jealousy. Stupid kid didn’t know how fucking Hallmark her life had been, considering.

As if reading her mind, Rosalie stopped short and brought her hands up. “Ceasefire on all issues pertaining to slayerhood until this shit with Lucifer is done. Okay?”

She relaxed a bit. “I hear that.” Only the kid definitely wasn’t going to be a happy camper when the time for that conversation arrived, because Faith had a strict no-bullshit policy. She turned back to the coffee, and when Rosalie didn’t move, she decided to not beat around the bush and just get to brass tax. “What’s on your mind, Ro?”

“Are you in love with Dean?”

Well, fuck. And she’d had to ask.

Faith went still. “Why do you care?”

“Wow, defensive much?”

“Just not sure why the hell my love life is so fucking entertaining for you.”

“Aha!” Rosalie bounded forward. “Love life? _Love _life? You do love him.”

She kept her gaze on the mug she’d just poured, her heart hammering in her ears. The old fears that Nick and Ro would have a good laugh at her expense in the event this thing with Dean went belly-side up hadn’t died completely, though knowing Ducky loved her gave her a measure of comfort. There was still the chance that she would fuck something up without meaning to. Especially with the devil sniffing around her—she’d made the right call last night, running the plan by Dean, but she was still just barely in this relationship thing and if they were long-hauling it, there were miles ahead.

But shit, she wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all herself. Might feel good to unburden. And since B wasn’t around right now…

“Truth?” Faith turned around and met Rosalie in the eye. “I dunno.”

Rosalie blinked, having clearly not expected that. “You…you’re gonna talk about it?”

“If this shit blows up in my face, are you and Nick gonna be assholes about it?”

“What do you mean?”

Faith shook her head, feeling stupid but committed now. “I know I act tough, Ro, but I hardly ever feel it. The way you two have been giggling about me and Dean just kinda pissed me off. Like you were waiting for me to fuck it up.”

“What? No!” Rosalie stormed forward, her eyes wide and stricken. “No, no, no. We want you to be happy. When you guys came back from looking for the blood, before we knew the blood was _any _slayer blood, Giles and Mary thought it was pretty much over, because you were pissed at him and that made me sad.” She launched herself into Faith’s arms without warning. “I love you, you big idiot. I want you to be happy. And I like Dean. He’s kind of an asshole, sure, but not as much now as he was before you. And if you love him I want it to work. And if it doesn’t work—totally be his fault, by the way, because boys are super dumb—then we’ll eat ice cream and burn him in effigy. Also kick his ass.”

Faith didn’t know how to respond—if there was a way to respond. For endless seconds she stood rigid, trying to make sense of what was happening. At length, she found herself relaxing, then wrapped her arms around the girl. “Damn, kid.”

Rosalie pulled back, her eyes brimming. “You died for me, Faith. I’d never laugh at you for…for loving someone. I know how powerful your love is.”

Fuck, she was going to go all weepy. “Sorry,” she mumbled and wiped at her eyes. “I don’t even know why I thought it, to be honest. Just feels different now than before.”

“Before with Wes?”

“With anyone. But yeah, guess Wes is the best comparison.” Faith barked a laugh. “Only then I couldn’t shut up about it. Ran to Nick to get him to slap some sense into me.”

“And to fuck you,” the girl said somewhat dryly.

“Figured it’d get the mushy shit to go away.” Faith leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I know you know this, and we’re all good now, but kid? Me and Nick were never anything. He was a friend—_is_ a friend. The first real one I had. But he’s never done it for me. We were both lonely as hell and it was…convenient. Like drinking myself blind only without the hangover. Little Novocain for the soul.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.” She thought for a moment. “It was different with Wes but not anything like this. I felt something for him that was different, yeah. But even now I ain’t sure if it was anything that coulda been anything. More I think of it, actually, the less sure I get. Because everything in that was about me pulling him up. With Dean, we pull each other up. I’m not doing the heavy lifting and neither is he. He calls me on my shit and I call him on his. It just feels…even.”

“Like you love him?”

Faith snickered and rolled her eyes. “Like I don’t know. Haven’t ever been in love. But if you’re asking if Dean’s my boyfriend? Yeah. We’re labeled up. Have tried the bit where we took turns trying to scare each other to our senses and it hasn’t taken. And if it ended today, it’d hurt like a motherfucker.”

“It’s not going to end. Even if you’re not sure about loving him, he is about loving you.”

Faith swallowed. She was pretty sure Dean hadn’t shared his feelings about her with anyone, but she’d been wrong before. “You think so?” she replied neutrally.

“Seriously. With the moon eyes. The guy is nuts for you. If he hasn’t yet, he’ll start saying it. Just don’t break his heart when he does and you don’t know what to say back.”

A pang hit her chest. “Thanks for the advice, kiddo.”

“I may be a teenager but I have watched a lot of romance movies.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Cordy?”

“Awful, awful taste.”

Faith snickered again and scooped both coffee mugs off the counter. “Speaking of, the boy’ll be one cranky ass if I bring this to him lukewarm. Better get a move on. Figure we’ll have the big group chat about tonight then I gotta find my ass something to wear.”

“You’re gonna dress up for the devil?”

“No fucking clue. Might see about hitting town to get some new threads.” She shivered. “Not sure I’m gonna wanna wear whatever I wear tonight more than once, especially if he gets handsy.”

“You know Dean’s gonna flip his freakin’ lid if he does.”

“Yeah, we had that talk. But no matter what happens tonight, we’ll be five-by-five.”

“You guys rock together.” Rosalie beamed and motioned to the pantry. “I’m on a Pop-Tart errand. Sugar up before Sam makes me go on this morning’s run.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“Five-by-five,” the girl replied cheekily before disappearing into the pantry.

Faith edged her way out of the kitchen and nearly stumbled into Mary, who, she realized belatedly, had been very clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. A rush of irritation wrapped around her insides and must have crossed into her face, for Mary favored her with a somewhat mollified look.

“I’m his mother,” she said as if it explained everything. Which it did. Kind of. Didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Yeah,” Faith muttered, eyes on the ground, teeth clenched. “Well…”

A hand touched her shoulder. When she looked up, she was greeted by a smile.

“I know he loves you,” she said softly. “He loves with his whole self, my Dean does. And it sounds like you aren’t taking that lightly.”

Shit. Faith’s throat went dry. “I’m not.”

“Good.” Mary squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t.”

She swallowed again and straightened her shoulders. “I won’t.”

Mary held her gaze for a moment, warmth bleeding over. Warmth and something else—a hint of steel, just enough to warn of the dangers of crossing this woman. And while it would have been easy to resent, Faith found she didn’t. She appreciated that Mary was looking out for her son.

“I know you won’t,” the woman said, then entered the kitchen without another word.

*~*~*

Rosalie rolled her head back and tried to keep her eyes from following suit. In a million years, she never would have guessed that Faith would be the try-on-every-outfit-in-the-store type of girl. And, to be fair, it hadn’t really been her idea. Since Dean had handed over one of his many hot credit cards—right before tossing Faith the keys to the Impala in front of everyone without so much as a blink—he’d insisted on first right of refusal on whatever was purchased.

Thus far, Faith had amassed a pile of things that wouldn’t work, along with a few select outfits that Dean had instructed her to buy, after seeing the photos Rosalie had snapped, but mandated weren’t for Lucifer.

Around hour three, Dean started sending Rosalie photos of nun habits and asking if the store had anything like that in stock.

“Your boyfriend’s obnoxious,” Rosalie called to Faith, who was cursing loudly in the changing room.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“He wants you to dress like a nun.”

Faith snorted.

“No, seriously. He’s sending me photos of actual nun clothes.”

The door to the changing room flew open and Faith strolled out, wearing a criminally short black dress with a low neckline, held up by two thin straps that looked tissue-thin. It was the kind of dress that, had Rosalie not been the Slayer and in peak physical condition, would have made her hate the bitch. It barely covered her thighs and showcased her strong legs. Paired with stilettos and—

“We should get stripper poles,” Rosalie blurted.

Faith arched an eyebrow, snatched the phone from her to scroll through the messages Dean had sent. “What?”

“For the training room.”

“Ro, if Sammy’s telling you to take it all off, we need to report him.”

“No. But my legs are a weak spot and yours are awesome.” She waved at said legs. “And those workouts are supposed to be really great for building muscle.”

At that, Faith smirked, then held out the phone and snapped a selfie. “Oh, they are,” she said, tossing the mobile back to her. “Send that to Dean. Tell him it’s as close as we’re gonna get to a nun’s habit and I’m officially shopped out.”

Rosalie eyed the outfit warily. “Yeah, he’s going to blow.”

“Later tonight, if I’m lucky.” Faith ran her hands down the material. “He told me to run this the way I would if he weren’t in the picture, and this is how I’d do it. Just need some heels and we’ll be good to go.”

“So you agree with my idea about a stripper pole?”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “Fuck yeah. Can show you a few moves to get you started. That’s actually a pretty solid idea, kid. Does make you work all kinds of muscles regular training won’t hit. Not to mention limbers you up to make you extra flexible.” She winked. “Handy when saving the world.”

“Also, Nick would cream his pants.”

“Not that it takes much…”

Rosalie scowled and crossed her arms. “He might be your former hookup, but he’s my boyfriend. Be nice.”

“No promises.”

“And Dean’ll—”

“Ro, trust me, I know what Dean _will_. Probably won’t even need to tell him its practical purpose before he starts lookin’ for models.”

“So you already know some stripper moves?” Rosalie asked after Faith had changed back into her regular clothes and they were gathering up the items in the _yes _pile. The phone had been dinging every few seconds since Rosalie had sent the little black dress pic, but on Faith’s suggestion, she’d ignored it.

“Yup.”

“Were you…?”

“A stripper?” Faith arched an eyebrow, throwing a few things over her shoulder. “My mom was. Not the classy kind, neither. But I grew up in joints like that. Learned a lot of the shit early on.”

“Does Dean know _that_?”

“Nah.” She winked as they made their way to the checkout line. “Need to save some stuff for his birthday.”

Rosalie giggled, and while the resentment from earlier was still there, a time-release bomb waiting to go off, she couldn’t deny that this was the most fun she’d had with Faith in maybe ever. The dynamic was different now than it had been before Kansas, before she’d died. Rather than being the child with an adult, she was the slightly younger best gal pal, and they were doing the chick thing. Shopping, talking about boys, and trading secrets. It was everything she’d ever wanted in a big sister—in Faith. Only without the nasty jealousy that used to tag her whenever Faith would mention anything remotely sexual, and she’d have to imagine her doing it to Nick. Or with Nick. Or on Nick. Or just really anything involving Nick.

That Faith had trusted her to talk about her relationship meant a lot. Rosalie just hoped it didn’t take the elder slayer too long to figure out she was in love with Dean. Because she totally was. But with Faith, that was the sort of thing she’d need to realize on her own.

Oddly enough, it could be that this business with the devil would end up being the push she needed to open her eyes.


	75. Chapter 75

Dean knew, in the end, he wouldn’t get his pick on her outfit. They didn’t have that kinda dynamic and honestly, he wasn’t looking to control her. Didn’t mean he liked her getting slutted up for the devil.

Though she wasn’t slutty—she was fucking gorgeous. She hadn’t tried to look this good that time with dhampir thing at the bar. Same went for either of the times they’d played dress up when investigating for the salt. The rest of the time she was a natural woman and he found her irresistibly sexy. But tonight she was working to loosen Lucifer’s lips. He didn’t know how she couldn’t tempt the devil.

He chuckled as he stood gazing at her as she adjusted herself in the skin-tight black number she’d gotten that did little to cover much skin. Paired with those damn strap on heels and that smoky eye makeup and he knew he was gonna have a hard time keeping his cool when the conversation turned dirty. She was the evil twin to the sweet little yellow sundress who was supposed to marry him on May 23rd.

She looked over at him and arched an eyebrow, mirror in one hand and lipstick in the other. “You think I look funny?”

He licked his lips. “Quite the opposite. Actually was just thinking about how you definitely ain’t the girl I was planning on marrying.”

There was a loud commotion behind him it sounded like someone dropped a liquor bottle on the counter. “Excuse me?” Nick stammered.

Sam chuckled from the stool beside him. “Y’all got something to share?”

He saw the twinkle in Faith’s eyes and knew she followed him.

“We posed as an engaged couple when we started hitting churches looking for the salt. She played a sweet virgin in a yellow sundress.” He tore his eyes from hers to look at his brother. “She wore lipgloss.”

“And it was convincing?” Dawn asked skeptically. “No offense. I’m just saying, that’s some Oscar worthy acting there.”

Faith scoffed. “I was a fucking lady. Up until that last pastor got all skeazy. Then I was a fucking slayer.” She winked at Dean and turned her focus to apply some hot red lipstick to her luscious little mouth.

“I kinda don’t know if I wanna have a quickie before we start this stupid meeting.” Dean didn’t really think about him admitting his horniness to a room that included his mom until the words were out.

“After,” Faith said casually. “Unless you want me all wet and sticky when I start chatting up Lucy. Which is kinda kinky.”

“You two honestly have no sense of decency,” Giles huffed. “Or regard for others.”

Faith smacked her lips and closed the compact before turning to the eldest Watcher. “Actually, over half the shit we say is in total regard of others. We enjoy making you all feel awkward and jealous.”

Dean tilted his head and nodded. “Yeah, that’s about right.” He gave her a little wink.

The front door opened and Rowena and Lorne walked in. “Everything is set,” announced the green demon somberly.

“And you’re good?” Rosalie asked. “Because I can—”

“Rosie Posey,” Lorne cut off with none of his usual light humor. He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t…” His voice broke, but he cleared his throat. “I came here for you so I’m gonna do it.”

Dean hadn’t had much opinion of the demon one way or another until now. He’d earned his respect today. Part of the plan was making this look like a date—complete with drinks and conversation. Someone had to serve the devil and nobody named Winchester or Castiel could do it. The vamps in the corner were too risky and Dawn and Rowena were not even going to be allowed in the room. Nick was out due to his past with Faith. That left Lorne, Rosalie, or Giles—and the old guy had a lot of pent up rage considering how things had transpired with Buffy and Willow. The easy choice would be toss it to Baby Spice. Lorne had stepped up and taken it like a champ.

“Okay,” Mary said as she looked around at everyone. “It’s time to call for him.”

“One minute,” Dean heard himself say. He thought he could play this game that it was just another job like Faith and he had agreed, but he needed one last moment with her…just in case. He nodded at Faith before gesturing his head toward the back.

It kinda surprised him no one questioned. Even Faith just nodded and followed him back to the area where they kept all the extra booze and the animals for purchase. “Ducky?” she whispered when they were alone. “No cold feet. We agreed this—”

He grabbed her and crashed his lips to hers, bringing his hand up to her neck and pressing her mouth to his with a violent need. He poured every drop of his soul into her as he ravaged her with his tongue and teeth. The fear this might be his last taste of her forever just made it almost too much for him to handle. Still, he fought to savor the moment—savor every needy moan that came from her lips as she gave him everything back with the same desperation. At last oxygen deprivation pulled them apart and he pulled back as a couple of tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

“Dean,” she gasped as she searched his eyes. Then she gently cupped his face and wiped his tears with her thumbs. “Do not make me fuck up my mascara,” she warned before a watery giggle escaped her. She brought one thumb down to trace his lips. “You’re wearing more lipstick than me now.”

He kissed her finger and then sucked it between his lips. She moaned and rolled her head back, pressing herself against him in a way that said she was feeling tempted to go for that quickie they’d talked about. “Ducky,” she said in a husky voice.

He pulled her thumb out with a slow pop. “I know he said in kind.” Then he started trying to wipe the lipstick from the smears around her mouth. “You might wanna reapply that real quick.” Once he’d fixed his damage, he looked up in her eyes. “One last time.” He swallowed. “I love you, Faith.”

He saw her eyes glaze and she began blinking hard to keep from tearing up. “Dean, I—”

“Shh,” he said, placing his index finger on her lips. “Just promise me a dance after this is all over. That’s all I want to hear from you now, baby.”

She released a ragged breath and nodded.

“Good,” he said before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and giving her a smile. “Now you go out there and work it, Kitty.” He fluffed her mussed up hair and then straightened her dress. “You go and give the devil his due.”

She cleared her throat and nodded before flashing him one of her killer smiles. “Remember to be a good ducky like you promised. Kitty won’t use her claws in the fun way later otherwise.”

“I promise.”

*~*~*

Faith felt a wave of nausea so strong she thought she might hurl when Lucifer strolled in the bar. Taking a steadying breath she walked a couple of steps toward him and summoned her strength—and the strength she knew Dean was sending her as he stood out of sight behind the stage—and plastered a fake smile on her face. “You came.”

The devil looked equal parts excited and bewildered. “You called to me. I expected a trap, but—” He stopped and his eyes flickered up and down her body with that lustful look that was officially universal to man, demon and angel. “I’ve made a lot insinuations, but damn girl, you are a force to be reckoned with. I’d argue you’re Daddy’s best creation.”

His compliments made her skin crawl. “It’s not a trap.”

He cast her a skeptical smirk. “Really?” He looked around the room. “Because I’m seeing a lot of familiar faces from the last trap you set for me. Sure this ain’t a repeat, sweetheart.” He waved at Sam. “Hey there buddy. I see you.” He looked back at Faith. “And I figure Harry Potter and the others are hiding just outta sight. I’m a lot of things, sugar, but dumb ain’t one.”

“It’s not a trap,” she reiterated. “And actually the Hogwarts gang isn’t even here anymore.”

“Really?” He seemed intrigued. “Then what is this?”

“I call it a conversation. You can call it a date.” She turned and started walking to one of the tables in the center of the room. “You wanna drink?”

He followed and sat across from her.

Lorne walked over then. “What can I get you two?” His attempt at a smile looked more like painful wince.

“Dude,” Lucifer said, eyeing him over. “You fugly.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Gimme a double of the most expensive whiskey in the joint on ice.”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” the devil said with a playful waggle of his brows. “So,” he said once Lorne walked back to the bar. “I’m not too skilled with the way these dates work. We start with the flirting and stuff, but how long before the dirty dancing? Any chance you’re willing to put out tonight? I’ve heard rumors you don’t beat around the bush.”

Faith cringed. Yeah, she was officially regretting her bad reputation at the moment. “So why should I throw in with a guy who can't even win a fiddle contest in fucking Georgia?”

Lucifer made a noise of pure disgust. "Puhlease, talk about bad marketing. Remember I was locked up for most of the last eternity until Sammy let me free. The bitch of it is I've never even been to Georgia! Give the devil his due, Charlie Daniels."

“Oh yeah. You poor baby.”

The devil pouted before giving her a shy smile. “Any chance you will kiss it and make it better?”

“And risk hurling all over my new dress? Thanks, but I'll pass.”

Lucifer stifled a laugh. “Well, there is a solution for that...” He waggled his brows and didn’t look up as Lorne placed the drinks on the table.

“Didn't know the devil had a vomit kink. Word to the wise: not hot.” She gulped down about half her drink in one swallow.

“I like your sass. Really do. And I get it. You've been given the Winchester gospel, but you're smart enough to know there's two sides to every story. So, what is it that grosses you out? Something you've heard or the fear that I might not be as bad as you want to pretend?”

Faith shook her head. “Nuh-uh. No, I don't buy the 'I'm poor and misunderstood' bullshit. Nine times outta ten, a spade is a fucking spade. The rep I got I earned. Can't think of one motherfucker that hasn't been true for, and the guys who tout out that line are always the ones that have earned it the most. Also, my dude, you just tried to open the mouth to Hell. So kudos on the cajones it took to even try to fly that line, but I got your number.”

He chuckled and sipped his drink. “You like to pick and choose with that moral superiority, don't cha? And according to your reputation, you should be jumping my bones as we speak. Unless you're racist. You got a problem with being touched by an angel? Is that why you're preferring a certain fella with his own nasty reputation?”

Faith burst out laughing. “That's your selling point? You're an angel? Holy shit, no thank you. Once was enough for this girl. And my not wanting to bone you has jack shit to do with anything other than I don't wanna bone you. And I'm not even convinced you want to bone me. Way I hear it, most angels aren't the touchy-feely type.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Well, now you're kinda hurting my feelings, sweetheart. You've pretty much gone around and ridden every dick you've ever met. Can you honestly name five guys you haven't boned? So, have I been coming on too strong? You like a little more cat and mouse? I can brood more about my life choices, drink like my liver is about to fail, put on some flannel and classic rock. Is that what gets you hot and bothered these nights now? I can pretend to be a violent alcoholic approaching middle-age. We both have daddy issues.”

Faith fought to keep from showing him a reaction to his words. She wouldn’t let him try and bring Ducky into this—especially since her man was being a good boy and keeping quiet. “Do you have a crush on Dean? You seem awfully fixated on him. Which, if that's how you swing, that's cool with me but I don't think he's all that into you.”

Lucifer sneered. “Oh, honey, he isn't even my favorite Winchester. Remember me and Sammy got history. We had that lovely vacay in Hell and all that time soul bonding. No, I’m just trying to figure you out. I mean it when I say you intrigue me.”

Faith glared at him. “Because of your daddy issues. You don't care that I'm a slayer—you don't even care that I used to be a very bad girl. You're sittin' here because Chuck decided to make me special. And hey, man, I get it. Met the motherfucker once and I can tell you that's one smug bastard that deserves to have his teeth kicked in. Still don’t know what screwing me has to do with your little revenge fantasy. Turn me dark, yeah, that’d fly with what you did with Will and it ain’t like no one’s played that angle with me before. But again, the way I hear it, you’re not about human contact, which does shit to explain why you want in my pants so bad.”

“What?” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“You're fucking with me about wanting to fuck me. I want to know why.” She held her breath. It was all out on the table now.

The devil looked at her for several intense moments before rolling his eyes with a sigh. “Fine. So what? Yeah, I'm a little pissed about Dad taking off with Auntie A and then coming back just to pop you back downstairs. But it's more than that. You aren't just some human, Faith. You're a slayer. And a damn captivating one at that. The light and the dark inside you is just... You won't like it, but it reminds me of me. And call me crazy, but you make me question things. Like whether I might have been wrong about humanity all along. Maybe there's experiences worth...trying. So there it is. That's all I want. You and me and one night for the full human experience. Give me the same shot you gave Castiel. Or Dean. Or that Wesley who killed you. Is it too much to ask?”

Well, that was a lot more forthcoming than she’d expected, but heavy with the creepy. She made him horny for the first time in history? God, that was forty-two flavors of fucked up. Part of her wanted to throw the remainder of her drink in his face, but she knew that wasn’t the angle she needed to play. “Sorry, Luc,” she said softly, like she meant it. “Ain’t into one-nighters these days. Almost kinda sorry about that if that’s what it means to you, but it’s not something that’s gonna change. Still, thanks for playin’ it straight.”

The wounded look he gave her _almost_ made her feel sorry for the douche. “What if we take a different approach? Not call it a one-nighter and more a chance at a new beginning? For both of us.”

Holy fuck. She was sitting here being courted by the fucking devil. Releasing a shaky breath she shook her head. “The answer is still no. Guess my time in Heaven changed me more than we realized, but I ain’t the woman you’re looking for. We met up a few years back and I ain’t gonna lie, you might’ve stood a chance. If for nothing else than the bragging rights. But now…” Now she had Dean and he was the only one she wanted to be with. Ever. She swallowed. “I’ve changed. And the kicker is I kinda like it.” She favored him a small smile. “So I’m afraid this just ain’t gonna work.”

A darkness flashed in his eyes that officially scared her shitless. Not that any guy took rejection well, but this was the point where she wasn’t sure he was gonna just walk away or decide to do something drastic—like kidnap her or snap her neck. “It’s Dean,” he said in a quiet and dangerous whisper. “Isn’t it? You came back and started playing house with Michael’s reject? He’d be in Hell now if he hadn’t let his little brother take his spot.” His voice lowered further. “Is it his darkness or his light that drew you to him? Because I can give you both, Faith.”

“Prove it,” she challenged. “You got the evil down pat, but when have you ever been good? When have you ever sacrificed—_loved_—anything other than yourself?” She paused and arched a brow. “And Daddy don’t count.”

He snickered. “You think he _loves_ you? If you aren’t named Winchester or Castiel, you’re nothing but a means to an end. He will let the world burn if he thinks it’ll save one of those—he’s let people die. Ask him about it. Bobby? Kevin? Jo and Ellen? His little _sister_, Charlie? His little _brother_, Adam? You ask him what those names mean. And don’t be fooled. If I stood up and said it was you or Sammy right now, it wouldn’t be a contest. He’d whine and beg and then he’d add you to the list with the others.”

Truth of the matter was she wasn’t she wasn’t so sure about Dean’s Sophie’s choice. Not that she would ever blame her ducky for choosing her brother—he’d been parenting him since four years old—but she wasn’t so convinced that he couldn’t _not _save her. Because he loved her in a way he didn’t love anyone else. The thought kinda blew her away because she honestly didn’t know what her choice would be if it came down to him or Buffy. Or Rosalie. That was some heady shit she didn’t have time to think about.

Apparently her face had said more than she intended. His eyes flashed red and she gasped on instinct, pulling back from the table with a loud scoot of the chair across the floor.

“We’ll see.” His threat was ominous and terrifying.

Then with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

Faith sat shaking, staring at the space the devil had just occupied. She wanted to pretend this was the last time she’d ever have to speak to Lucifer, but deep down she knew it wouldn’t be.

*~*~*

Not exactly sure it could be called a win, Dean forced himself to focus on the positive. Lucifer was gone and Faith was alive and kicking. While he hadn’t heard the last of their conversation, Dean had heard enough to know they had a better idea on Lucifer’s motivations now. He was well and truly trying to bang his girlfriend. It’d be funny if it wasn’t fucking petrifying.

Faith closed her eyes and took several long, calming breaths after the devil left. The others took a moment to try and relax themselves from the tension that had been suffocating everyone.

“So now what?” Zack was the first to speak. “We think he’s gonna take no for an answer? Move on and try his moves on another chick?”

“Probably not,” Sam said thickly, turning to hug Dawn when she and Rowena walked out from the back.

“I still feel there’s something we’re missing,” Cass stated. “If it was just about sex, he could find another willing participant.” His eyes flashed to Dean with a look of regret. “Or simply take Faith and…”

“Yeah,” Dean growled, getting the message. If the devil was willing to destroy the world, rape wasn’t out of the question. He hopped off the stage with a grunt and walked over to where Faith was still sitting. “Kept my promise,” he said in greeting.

She finally looked up at him. She couldn’t hide the fear, but she managed to give him a smirk. “Good boy. You can have a cookie.”

His lips twitched as he tried to hold his face. “Wasn’t the deal, woman. You owe me a dance.”

“I need a shower,” Rosalie declared. “I feel like I need to wash the icky off.”

“Can we go now?” Kelly asked in a pitiful whimper. She hadn’t talked to anyone since coming back. Dean figured even now her question was more to her husband than anyone else.

“Yes,” Giles answered. “I believe for the moment the situation is settled.”

“Good,” Lorne said, tearing out the front door like his pants were on fire. Rowena gave Nick a look and followed.

The vampires soon exited with his mom and Giles in tow. Nick started absently cleaning up empty bottles and glasses and Sam and Dawn slipped off into the back. Rosalie walked over to the sound equipment and began fiddling around. “One hot song coming up.”

Dean arched his brows and held out a hand. “Whaddya say? Ms. Lehane, may I have this dance?”

She reached out and locked her fingers with his. “Since you asked like a gentleman.”

The music started and he led her to the open area by the stage. Then he wrapped his arms around her and swayed them to the beat.

He didn’t recognize the slow, sultry tune even after the lyrics started. He turned their bodies so he could give Rosalie a bemused tilt of his head. “Rihanna. Trust me, she gets you in the mood.” She winked before walking over toward her boyfriend with a smile.

Faith chuckled and nuzzled her face against his neck and Dean didn’t give a fuck if Rose had put on Barney for all he cared. For a moment he was gonna just savor the fact that he had his baby in his arms. He buried himself in her hair and inhaled her unique scent. Past the shampoo and perfume was the essence of her than was like a fucking drug to his soul.

> _Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire_
> 
> _Just to get close to you_
> 
> _Can we burn something, babe?_
> 
> _And I run for miles just to get a taste_
> 
> _Must be love on the brain_
> 
> _That's got me feeling this way (feeling this way)_
> 
> _It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good_
> 
> _And I can't get enough_
> 
> _Must be love on the brain yeah_
> 
> _And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name)_
> 
> _No matter what I do, I'm no good without you_
> 
> _And I can't get enough_
> 
> _Must be love on the brain_

As he listened to the words, they spoke to him on a level he hadn’t understood before Faith had come into his life. He did have love on the brain and it did fuck him so good. He moaned as he felt her press closer, her hips swirling to the beat as she rubbed her body against him.

Forgetting everything but her and the song, he dipped a hand down and slipped up the back of her dress to cup her ass, kneading it with his palm as he pulled her tighter against him. He heard her moan just before she began sucking on his neck in a way that had him hard instantly. He groaned as she kept rubbing herself on him.

> _What do I gotta do to get in your motherfuckin' heart?_
> 
> _Baby like ah, woo, ah_
> 
> _Don't you stop loving me (loving me)_
> 
> _Don't quit loving me (loving me)_
> 
> _Just start loving me (loving me)_

As the chorus started again, he maneuvered his leg between her thighs and pushed her to grind her pussy against him. She gasped and bit his neck with a moan as she started humping him through the denim. He could feel her heat and longed to feel her wetness. Longed to be inside her.

> _No matter what I do, I'm no good without you_
> 
> _And I can't get enough_
> 
> _Must be love on the brain_

The song ended abruptly, but he and Faith couldn’t pull away. No, there was a distinct possibility they were about to start fucking right here in the open and he was oddly okay with it. Shit, he needed her now.

“Dean,” she moaned, her lips still on his neck at just the right spot. He pulled her so she was rubbing his dick as she ground herself against him. “God, I need you inside me.”

He groaned and pulled his head up, ready to find a corner to give it to her good. But when his eyes looked up it caught something that stopped him in his tracks. Sam was standing by the door and he was talking to…

Faith felt him tense and regained her composure with slayer-like speed. “We giving the voyeurs a show?” She teased as she took a step back.

“The fuck?” Dean said as his hands dropped and he looked on as Sam was lowly conversing with _their sister_.

His girl was a quick study as she read his face and whirled around. “Fuck, that’s _her_.”

Dean tore off toward the pair with a vengeance. He knew at once that Sabrina wasn’t here by coincidence. Sam had some fucking answers to give.


	76. Chapter 76

Well, that killed her lady wood.

Faith swore and tore after Dean, her already frazzled mind scrambling to switch gears. The day had been a fucking rollercoaster and the turns just kept coming.

“What the actual _fuck_, Sammy?” Dean snarled. “What did you do?”

Sam turned to him with a mixture of defiance and the classic deer-in-headlights look. “Dean, look—”

“No, what the _hell _is she doing here?”

The girl Faith recognized from the file folder as Sabrina Deanne favored him with a strained smile. “Hello to you too, big brother.”

Dean reeled as though slapped, and blinked like it really hit him that she was standing there. He stared at her for a second, worked his throat, seemingly torn between apologizing and reading Sam the Riot Act. At length, he shook his head and turned back to his brother. “We decided it was too fucking dangerous,” he said in a low snarl. “We have Lucifer sniffing around my fucking girlfriend and you decide to bring our _sister _into this shit?”

“We needed muscle,” Sam said. “Harry and the others went back and if Willow showed up, there was no telling if Rowena could hold her on her own. Odds were actually against her. I made a call and I don’t regret it.”

“You made a call,” Dean echoed, crossing his arms. “And you didn’t share with the fucking class.”

At this, Sam’s eyes darkened and his chagrin melted into resolve. “Just taking a page out of your book. I mean, isn’t that what we do now? Make secret plans and just hope it works out for the best? Because Buffy sure as hell didn’t run her plan to join the big fight by anyone, did she? And she only told a few of us her plan to jump into Hell. Not to mention the night you and Faith were gonna sneak off—”

“Horseshit,” Dean snapped.

“Oh, is it? Is it really? What’d I get wrong?”

“The only lives anyone ever gambled with in what you just mentioned were their own. This is just reckless bullshit. You brought her _here—_”

“I do, actually, have a mind of my own,” Sabrina volunteered. “I wanted to help.”

Dean flicked his gaze to her, his expression softening, but not much. “You wanted to help. Thought you were also worried about your government pals knocking on our door. The government pals who are in cahoots with those evil lawyer sons of bitches that made a deal with _your _fucking boyfriend to end the Slayer line.” He turned back to Sam. “Even think about that, Watcher Boy? The whole point of Rose comin’ here was to keep her off their radar.”

“Don’t,” Sam snapped.

“Don’t?”

“Don’t pretend for an instant Rose is who you’re worried about.”

“Of course she’s who I’m worried about!”

“And Faith.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock, but—”

“Lucifer’s a goddamn senior partner for those evil lawyer sons of bitches!” Sam snapped. “And if you haven’t noticed, he knows where all the Slayers are. Do you really think Wolfram and Hart is in the dark here?”

“Oh, you just thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“More so than you did! You haven’t been doing much thinking at all, not since she showed up.” He waved vaguely at Faith without taking his eyes off his brother. “Want to consider the possibility that I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d fly off the handle? And not even about _her_.”

“The fuck—”

“It’s Wes,” Faith said, keeping her eyes on Sam when Dean whipped his head around to look at her. “Least that’s my guess.”

Sam held her gaze before nodding slowly. “He was part of it, yeah,” he said. “Well… I didn’t think it’d be fair to ask you or Rose to deal with him, especially with everything else that’s going on.”

“Which is why we’re staying in our tent,” Sabrina volunteered softly, now gazing at Faith with a mixture of interest and uncertainty. “And…” She paused. “Damn. You had to be gorgeous, didn’t you?”

Faith arched an eyebrow and was embarrassed to feel her cheeks go a bit warm, though less at the words and more at the scowl with which Dean favored his sister. “Uhh, thanks?”

A touch of color stretched up her neck. “Sorry. I’ve just…heard a lot about you.”

For some reason, the idea of Wes sitting around and talking about her struck her as both hilarious and unlikely. Faith snorted before she could help herself. “Trust Wes to be the chatty guilty sort. A good brood’s more my kinda thing.”

“When he learned you were alive, he wanted to come see you at once,” the girl blurted. “To see how you were. Apologize for what happened.”

“How does he even know I’m alive? Didn’t think he and Wright were all that tight anymore.”

At this, Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “Mighta come up in the message I sent her.”

Oh, of course. Faith snickered softly, entangled her arm around his and leaned her chin on his shoulder. “Seriously, D?”

“Needed her to know that I wasn’t wild about the guy. He has a tendency to get people I… Important people killed.”

Faith pressed her lips to his shoulder to hide her smile. “Ahh.” She turned her attention back to Sabrina. “Well, you can tell him that isn’t exactly the kinda thing you just apologize for. And it ain’t even me he owes it to—I knew what I was doing when I cold-clocked the girl. Ro’s the one he lied to.”

“But you’re the woman he loved.”

That about knocked her off her feet. Faith pulled her head back, certain she’d heard wrong and blinked at the girl. “Say what?”

Dean went rigid against her.

“I know he loves Rosalie,” Sabrina said, blushing harder still, her gaze darting everywhere. “But he was in love with you. It’s a bit hard to—”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“What?”

She shook her head, frowning. “Look, the guy can get a bit sentimental, but I promise it wasn’t like that with me and him. We were barely a thing before the shit went down. Whatever you think it was, he didn’t—”

“He told me he did. When we first met, he said he’d gotten the woman he loved killed.”

Well, that was certainly dramatic. Faith rolled her eyes and snickered again. “Whatever. And it doesn’t matter.” She looked at Sam. “What matters is we gotta have some level of trust, right? Thought we were past all that bullshit, Sammy.”

Sam’s expression closed down, the light behind his eyes hardening. He looked away, worked his throat, his jaw clenched, before meeting her gaze again. “No, you don’t get to say things like that,” he said. “Not after you and Buffy—”

“Hey,” Dean snapped, getting in his brother’s face. “You wanna watch your fuckin’ tone? She just went a round with the goddamned devil, so yeah, I think she gets to say whatever the fuck she wants.”

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. “Really? This is who you are now?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said, Dean! You haven’t been _you _since she showed up.” Sam glanced at Faith, but the contact was brief. “Any other time you’d have known this was the right call. I wouldn’t have _had _to keep it secret because of some guy you barely know, no matter who he was or what he’d done. You’d see the wisdom in bringing as much firepower to a meeting with Lucifer as we had available. Even, yes, if it meant making _my _slayer uncomfortable. And seriously, this is how you greet our sister? Aren’t you even a little happy to meet her?”

Yeah, Faith didn’t need to be intimately clued into Dean’s moods to know that that was among the worst things Sam could have decided to say. For a second, it seemed that Dean might take yet another swing at his brother—from the way every inch of him tightened, he certainly wanted to. Instead, he pulled his eyes from Sam and looked at her.

“What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

Some of the tension in her chest lessened. Yeah, better to get back to the bunker. Take a breather. Fuck each other blind a few times and see if that made the situation seem any better. Faith swallowed and nodded. “’Kay.”

He turned back to Sam—to Sabrina, his eyes on the latter. “Sorry to meet you like this. Sorrier still our brother is a dipshit. Do yourself a favor and get away from us. And away from Wes, while you’re at it. Guy’s fucking toxic. Just…get away from all of this.” He took Faith’s hand without looking at her, then they were moving, back through the bar and toward the front where he had Baby parked and ready to go.

This would come to a head, Faith knew, and sooner rather than later. But she couldn’t say she regretted their quick leave. There was too much in her head to sort through at the moment.

She just hoped when the world slowed down Dean wouldn’t resent her for letting him storm away from his real family. While she knew Dean loved her, even while she might straddle the realm between not knowing where she’d fall in the line of people he’d be willing to sacrifice in order to save, she also knew he’d never forgive himself if something went down while he and Sam were on the outs. If he never got the chance to know Sabrina. And if she was the reason, even tangentially, that he lost either one of them, things between them might take a hit she wasn’t sure they could recover from.

*~*~*

Dean didn’t release his grip on Faith until they were across the threshold of their room, and only then because he needed both hands. He stormed over to the bed, fished the duffle out from where he’d shoved it the last time they’d lit out, then began opening drawers of their shared dresser and tossing things inside.

“Ducky?”

“Just grabbin’ what we can. We can pick up whatever else we need on the road.”

“So…we’re leaving again?”

This question was enough to jerk him out of the angry fog that had settled around his head. He frowned. “Yeah. That still okay with you?”

Her expression remained confused for a long beat before understanding leaked into her eyes. “So when you said to blow the popsicle stand, you meant everything.”

“Yeah. Don’t think I can be here right now.” He went back to shoving things in the duffle, though now splitting his attention between what he was doing and the anxious look on Faith’s face. “You okay, Kitty?”

“I just… Things being the way they are now, I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“Only thing I regret at the moment is letting B take that fucking dive, but even then…” Even then he wasn’t sure he really regretted it, which made him feel worse. Because the alternatives were unthinkable, even with everything else that was going on. Baby Spice was too fucking young to have made that leap, and Faith…

He’d have shoved Buffy inside himself before he’d let Faith sacrifice herself again.

“I’ll call Crowley from the road,” he said, realizing belatedly he’d stuffed the duffle with too many tops, so he didn’t have room for jeans and skirts. Fortunately, Faith had left her other purchases in the Impala so she’d have a bit more to choose from. “Fucker’s been radio silent for too goddamned long. See if Spike’s found anything or if there’s a lead. But baby, I ain’t about to regret anythin’ else.”

“Look, I ain’t wild about it, but I get why Sammy—”

He whipped his head up again. “Don’t.”

“Ducky—”

“That wasn’t his call to make. Fuck him. And yeah, I wanted to see kid sis as much as the next guy, but that was fucking careless on her part, too. Even if Wolfram and Hart does know about you and the kid being here, we don’t need the whole fucking magical government breathing down our necks now.”

And there was the Wes thing. Wes was around here, the fucker that had gotten Faith killed the last time. Not only was he around here, he had the goddamn audacity to claim that he’d loved her.

Not too long ago, Faith had told Dean, thinking he was sleeping, that no one had ever loved her before. That she’d never heard the words from someone who actually knew her and what that meant. He’d trusted that was true, and he still believed it—her own reaction to what Sabrina had said tonight had been too raw to be faked. And yeah, it was a fucking petty thing to focus on all things considered, but he couldn’t logic the feeling away. Not after tonight—after watching her dress up for the goddamned devil. Especially not when he hadn’t yet had time to process just what it meant that Lucifer had maybe his first-ever hard-on for Dean’s girlfriend.

Faith was wanted by everyone, it seemed. How long before she realized just how special that made her? She said he made her feel really wanted for herself, that he was the first person who’d ever done that in a real way—but what happened when he wasn’t the only guy who could offer that anymore? When she understood how much better she was than him. Her dark shit would always be dark but she’d more than made up for it in ways Dean never could. The only person that hadn’t realized that was her. Fuck, even Dawn seemed to be warm to her now.

“I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret,” Faith said hoarsely, jarring him back to the present. “If Lucy sends Will after Sam or something. Or comes after him himself. I worry he might.”

Dean frowned, slowing down long enough to really look at her, to really take in the concern on her face. “Wouldn’t be the first time or nothin’, but any reason you think he might?”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to…” Dean fought back a growl. “Enough. He got quiet there at the end. This have somethin’ to do with that?”

“He mentioned some of your people—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and the rest. Said that my head would be on the chopping block if it was between me and Sam. Tryin’ to convince me to take his parts for a spin because I’ll never be that important to you. And the way he left made me think he might wanna prove it.” Faith looked away. “Ain’t worried about me. Whatever else, I can take care of myself. And I ain’t worried about where I fall in the lineup, either. Family’s family and I get that—it _should _be Sam. But if we take off and he does come after your brother and we’re not here to make that call in the first place? I don’t wanna be the reason.”

If there was anything she could have said to throw water on the fire that had lit under his ass at the bar, it was that. Because, well, damn, that was heavy shit. Dean didn’t much like mind exercises where he’d have to weigh the value of one life against another, but yeah, historically, Sam and Cass were the guys at the top of Dean’s _will sacrifice anyone for _list. But the alternative, a world without Faith, hit him like a gut-shot. Sammy and Cass he loved more than he loved himself, but neither one of them had made him feel like he had a reason to live beyond just watching their backs. Faith had become his reason.

He wasn’t sure he could tell her she wouldn’t be first, and that, he knew, was more powerful than _I love you_. He’d loved everyone he’d lost, loved them so much that the pain of losing them had him reaching for the bottle out of need rather than want. He’d always enjoyed drinking but had only begun to really crave it after the first few losses had hit. In the end, his love hadn’t been enough to save them. In the end, the choice had always been Sammy, because he more than loved his brother.

And he more than loved Faith, too. He wasn’t sure he could survive a world without her. He _was _sure he didn’t want to find out.

After he managed to grab hold of himself, Dean swallowed and said, “Baby, only gonna say this the once—what happened tonight was on him. And this shit with Lucifer and Sam goes way the fuck back. He doesn’t want Sam dead, though—he wants Sam’s body. Sammy’s gotta give it up for that to happen and as long as he breathes, he won’t. Not unless…” Not unless Dean was at stake. Or hell, maybe Rose or Dawn, but he didn’t think so. Sam wasn’t as sentimental in his decision-making, which likely made him the best choice for watcher. He’d consider the big picture before doing something dumb. “If anything, getting away from him might be the best thing for him. Not gonna take a bet or nothing, but I’m pretty sure he’d only say yes if he thought it’d save my life. Maybe not even then, way things are now. So don’t worry about him. Sammy can take care of himself just fine, too.”

“And Cass?”

“Cass’ll be fine.”

“Dean, if something were to happen—”

“Something’s already happened. It just keeps happenin’. And I can’t be here right now. Can’t be around any of ‘em.” Dean met her gaze again. “Only person I can be around is you. That okay?”

Faith stared at him for a long moment, then moved until she was right against him, her breath fanning his lower lip, her warmth against his cold, her scent in his nostrils. She pressed her mouth to his in a hard kiss that had his mind going blissfully blank, chasing everything else back into the shadows. His body suddenly remembered how close he’d come to fucking her in plain view of everyone less than an hour ago, how she’d moved against him, how perfect she always felt. And then he wasn’t sure he could wait until they got wherever they were going. He needed to take the edge off, needed her around him.

She seemed to be on the same wavelength, thank fuck. Faith pushed him back onto the mattress before straddling his waist, her hands busy at his fly. “One for the road?” she asked, jerking down the zipper. Then—_fuck, yes_—she had her fist around his cock and was pumping him with that steady mixture of need and want and strength that he loved so much.

“Better be quick,” he agreed thickly, bunching up the skirt of her dress so he could press his palm against her pussy. “’Cause whenever we land, I’m gonna wanna take my time.” And he meant it—he’d explore every fucking inch, ‘cause he wasn’t even sure he’d known just how much he loved her until right now. And he needed to show it.

Faith nodded, shuddered when his thumb slipped over her clit, then pushed the crotch of her panties aside and positioned the head of his cock at her opening. “Ducky…”

“I love you.”

Her lower lip trembled and her eyes went shiny, and she sank on him with a strangled cry that alone could have had him busting a nut. But as fast as they needed to make this, he needed more to feel her come before he left the party. Needed to know he was the one who did that to her—the one she’d chosen again and again. The one she wanted when she could have anyone.

That despite his many failings, he would get to keep her.

*~*~*

Well, that could have gone worse.

Or maybe it really couldn't have.

By the time Sabrina dragged herself across the threshold of the tent, she felt thoroughly run down. Exhausted in ways she hadn't known existed, and more than a little dejected. It had been a gamble from the start, of course, coming here without her oldest brother's knowledge and hope that he never found out, but even in the worst-case-scenario, she'd envisioned he'd at least be a little happy to see her.

“Sabrina.” Wes was there waiting for her, as she’d known he would be, and dragged her into a hard hug. “How did it go?”

In that, she heard everything he wasn’t asking. It only made her feel worse.

“The devil showed up,” she said, stowing her wand in her handbag. “Seems he really is interested in Faith.”

Wesley sighed and rolled his head back, fixing his gaze on the ceiling of the tent. “And how is she? Did you get to see her?”

“She’s gorgeous.” This she hadn’t meant to say, but couldn’t help it. Because, well, it wasn’t the sort of thing someone could just ignore. Yeah, she'd imagined that the girl had a body that wouldn't quit and was likely easy on the eyes, but even if she hadn't been wearing fuck-me shoes, a scrap of fabric, or been made up to look like a walking wet-dream, this was a woman Sabrina just couldn't compete with in the looks-department. And up until now, she hadn't considered herself all that shallow. There was more to a woman than her looks, but…did she have to be that fucking beautiful?

The only comfort Sabrina took home with her was that Faith hadn't seemed all that interested in Wes. Not that she'd meant to bring Wes up or apparently drop the news that he had been in love with her. No, it seemed that Faith only had eyes for Dean. What she'd caught on the Extendable Ears had been enough to more or less convince Sabrina that even if Wes was goo-goo for Faith, Faith had moved on.

Wesley offered a small smile and kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re gorgeous,” he said against her skin. Either she was transparent or he’d become more attuned to what she needed to hear whenever the subject of his ex-whatever was raised.

“Not that gorgeous.”

“Darling, you are to me and more besides.” This time he kissed her lips. “When I ask about her, it’s not anything except friendly concern. And a healthy amount of guilt.”

At this, Sabrina relaxed enough to shake her head, feeling stupid and insecure. Because, yes, Faith was pretty much a Penthouse Centerfold come to life, but Sabrina herself wasn’t a bologna sandwich. Before all this had started with Wes, she’d been what the wizards she knew called quite a catch. Smart, sassy, and sexy all rolled up into one. In fact, she could think of no woman that had ever intimidated her, which made the fact that Faith did hurt all the more.

“She handled the devil well,” Sabrina said. “She’s scared, though. I could tell that. And hell, I don’t blame her. He really wants in her pants. But…” She pressed her lips together. “But she didn’t let him bully her.”

A small, wistful smile pulled on Wesley’s mouth. “That sounds like her.”

“And Sam’s right—Dean is completely in love with her. He was a mess before Lucifer arrived and practically peed around her when he left.” At Wes’s shocked look, Sabrina elaborated, “You know, like a dog marking his territory. They honestly looked like they were gonna fuck right there in front of everyone before he noticed me.”

“Dean knows you’re here?”

Yeah, and he’d been really pissed about it. The pang of rejection surfaced again, though Sabrina wasn’t so stupid that she didn’t know what was really going on. Dean was afraid—afraid of the devil and what he wanted with Faith, afraid of what would come next, and afraid for Sabrina. Still, this introduction was not likely to go down in the big book of Hallmark moments.

“He’s really mad,” Sabrina whispered, and despite everything she’d just told herself, she felt her eyes sting. “Sam’s plan to keep him in the dark really backfired. Also…he doesn’t like you at all. Like, at all. He told me more than once to ditch you.”

If Wes was bothered by this, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he funneled his fingers through her hair and pulled her to him for a sweet kiss. “He has every right to feel that way,” he murmured. “But I don’t care about how he feels, love. I care about you. I know how much it means to you to meet your brothers and I’m so sorry it’s like this.”

“That’s not your fault.”

At the voice, Sabrina jumped and forced some distance between herself and Wesley. She felt like an absolute moron, but somehow she’d managed to completely forget that she’d invited her brother and his girlfriend to the tent in the aftermath. She’d been too lost in her own thoughts to do more than Apparate and lower the protection spells that kept the tent invisible.

Wesley went rigid and looked over her shoulder. “Sam,” he said, and stepped away from her. “And…Dawn?”

Sabrina turned in time to see her ridiculously tall brother dip his head under the flap to enter, tailed by the younger Summers girl.

“Wes,” Dawn replied coolly.

“I better go put the protection spells back up,” Sabrina muttered, pulling her wand from her handbag again. “Before I forget.”

“You brought them here?” Wesley asked. It wasn’t accusatory—not really—but he didn’t sound too terribly thrilled.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye,” Sabrina replied, and favored Sam with a soft smile. “At least one of my brothers is happy to see me.”

Sam offered her a side-hug, which she gratefully accepted.

“We have things to talk about,” he said. “I’m sorry about Dean. He’s… Well, he has issues.” Sam leveled a look at Wes that was neither friendly nor hostile—just appraising, and with the right amount of coolness to alert her that he was on big brother duty. “And given that Rose is my slayer, I understand some of those issues. I think we better talk.”

To his credit, Wes didn’t balk. Instead, he offered a solemn nod. “Right then. Would anyone care for tea?”


	77. Chapter 77

Dean couldn’t lie—he was pretty nervous until they were about five miles down the road. Their last escape hadn’t gone exactly to plan. As Faith used the flashlight on his phone to select a tape from his collection, he tried to calm himself down.

He wasn’t running. He kept telling himself that because there was a certain level of guilt that hit him every time he drove away from his brother—or Cass or Mom or, well, anyone he felt he needed to protect. This was just getting some space to work out all the shit in his head. That damn bunker was too crowded.

“Have you ever thought about an iPod?” Faith asked as she fumbled through cassettes.

“Those are vintage!” he scoffed as he gestured to the tapes in her lap.

She turned to give him an arched eyebrow. “Pretty sure they’re antique.”

“Classic,” he corrected. “Like the car.”

“Yeah,” she said skeptically. “Wouldn’t want to embrace the twenty-first century or anything.”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped, reaching over and grabbing a random tape. “Just shut your cake-hole there, shotgun.”

“You want me to throw these damn things out the window?” Faith warned as she snatched the cassette from his hand and opened the cover.

“You wouldn’t—” But he stopped himself because he knew damn well enough not to dare her. Instead, he shut up and listened to Motörhead once she popped in the tape.

Dean did his best to relax as they rode onward, though it was hard when he didn’t have a destination. After about half an hour, he checked in with her. “So, how far should we go? Glen Elder is up here by the lake or we can go on to Salina. Better yet, how ‘bout we just make a run for the border?”

“There’s a lake around here?” Faith asked. “Thought it was all cornfields and cemeteries around these here parts.”

“Find us a room. Glen Elder, Kansas.”

A few minutes on Google said there were only hunting lodges there so they pushed east onto a seedy motel over in Beloit. It wasn’t long until they were checked into the Backyard Inn. It was a shithole, but it would do in a pinch. Truth was he was ready to fuck himself to sleep and save all the shit on their plates for tomorrow’s problems.

Thankfully his kitty seemed in silent agreement as they went through the usual steps of getting a room from the front desk. He knew the guy behind the counter thought he’d bought a nice hooker for the night as he checked out Faith in her sexy get-up and then Dean in jeans and some flannel. He couldn’t even be mad because they didn’t look like they were from the same party, let alone the same league.

Which again made him think of Wes and Lucifer and a whole bunch of shit he couldn’t process tonight. After getting the key, he practically sprinted to the car and then down to the room.

He vaguely remembered mentioning taking his time back at the bunker, but that plan was going by the wayside as they fumbled in the dark to tear off each other’s clothes—they hadn’t even paused long enough after shutting the door to find a damn light switch. They bumped into a table and knocked over a floor lamp as they stumbled together toward the bed.

And through their kisses, he heard her giggling and suddenly he was laughing too. They were acting more like horny teens who had snuck into the closet instead of two grown-ass adults. And he loved it.

When they found the bed, he sat her down on the mattress and dipped down between her legs. Running his hands up her hips, he found her panties and pulled them down, leaning back enough to slip them off one of her legs. Again he reminded himself to slow down and enjoy the moment, but arousal overcame him and he spread her thighs and buried his face right in her wet pussy.

“Oh _fuck_,” she cried out as he wrapped his lips around her clit and began to suck. “Ducky,” Faith gasped as her hips bucked up against his face. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

He let his mouth pull away from her enough to slide his tongue up and down her slick slit. He tasted himself mixed with her own sweet ambrosia and it gave him a heady rush. Tracing his way back to her clit, he slid two fingers inside her and chuckled as he heard her cry out once more.

“Dean!” she called as he felt her hand funnel through his hair and urge him deeper inside her. “_Shit! _Just…lower,” she commanded. “Fuck _yes!_ _Harder!_”

God, he loved the way she didn’t hold back. He followed her instructions and worked relentlessly to get her to the mountaintop. He sucked and fucked until she was screaming her announcement for the town to hear. “_Dean!_”

And like the shower, he didn’t stop—even after he felt her reach that point of sensitivity that had her squirming and pleading and pushing him back. He kept going until he felt her come again and then once more when he finally made her soak his hand with her warm wetness.

She was still shaking as he pulled himself off the floor and rolled her all the way on the bed. “I thought you just got lucky the one time,” she panted as he crawled between her legs.

“It ain’t luck, baby,” he crowed as he rubbed his dick up and down her drenched pussy.

“Right,” she breathlessly replied. “You’ve watched a lot of porn.”

He wanted to feel her warmth around him so bad he was throbbing as he kept teasing her with his cock. She arched her hips up every time he pressed his head against her opening. “Ducky!” she hissed.

“What?” he asked her in a husky tease.

“Don’t make me flip you over,” she warned.

“You want it on top?”

“I want you inside me,” she growled. Then her tone softened to a whisper. “I want you to say it.”

He missed a breath as he processed her words and all his discipline dissolved. He swallowed hard and fought to get it out without breaking. “I love you,” he choked before burying his shaft inside her sweet tunnel.

As she wrapped her limbs around him, they began the familiar primal dance. But unlike any other woman he’d dated, it was never quite the same—while they had gone miles to learning exactly how to pleasure one another, every time was somehow better than the last. He didn’t know when they’d reach the peak of their sexcapades, but it wasn’t tonight.

He lost track of everything but the feel of her body against his. They switched positions each time he felt his balls tighten as to prolong inevitable eruption. It wasn’t until he couldn’t control the urge anymore that he thrust himself deep in her clenched pussy and spilled his seed with a strangled howl.

They laid there in silence for several blissful minutes, listening as their breaths and heartbeats slowly returned to normal. They were a sticky, sweaty mass of flesh as they held each other in the dark.

“Bet my makeup’s a wreck,” Faith said at last.

Dean barked a laugh and kissed her. “Bet I’m wearing half of it.”

“Bet you look cute.”

“Bet you’re still cuter.”

“Obviously,” she teased.

He snickered and gave her a soft, sweet kiss. But as with most things with them, what started as innocent quickly escalated.

“You can’t possibly get it up again tonight, Ducky,” Faith said as he slipped his hand down to cup her mound. “And I doubt I’m getting off again tonight. Pretty sure you broke my single-day record. Take the win and go out on a high note.”

He took his middle finger and parted her flesh, dipping it inside her swollen folds. “Challenge accepted.”

*~*~*

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Dawn commented as she looked around the tent.

“Doctor Who,” Sam and Sabrina said in unison before looking at one another and cracking up.

“You like fantasy?” Sam asked hopefully. It would be nice to have a few things in common with his new sibling.

She shrugged. “Isn’t our lives just one big sci-fi story? Magic, demons, slayers and such?”

“Harry Potter and mystical keys,” Dawn added.

“Huh?” Sabrina said as she looked at the other woman. “Keys?”

Not that he didn’t trust her, but the whole world didn’t have to know Dawn was really still a teenager in terms of existence. “Never mind,” he said quickly. “So…” He looked around and saw what appeared to be a kitchen table with four chairs. “I guess we sit and talk?”

“Right,” Sabrina said as she gestured everybody to have a seat.

After seated, everyone just looked around in awkward silence. “Weren’t you in school?” Wes said at last as he looked to Dawn.

Dawn wiggled in her chair and gave a somewhat sheepish glance first to Sam and then Wes. “Graduate school, but I kinda found myself in the family way.”

“You’re pregnant?” Sabrina asked, looking back and forth between her and Sam.

“We’re not—” Sam began. “I mean we _are_, but we definitely are _not_. We just started.” He shook his head. “That was years before me!”

“Oh?” Sabrina asked arching a brow and giving Dawn a long look. “So did you tell the father? Because let me say from experience, the kid will be hella disappointed to find out later they were adopted.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “No kid. Not pregnant. I meant the family _way_.”

Sam nodded as he caught her drift. “Dean and I say the family business. Less innuendo.”

“Shut up,” Dawn said with a blush that made him smile.

“So you two are…” Wes shook his head. “Forgive me, but I can’t help but see the little girl from Sunnydale.”

Dawn scoffed. “And I remember when you were a watcher and didn’t make deals with the law firm that killed my sister.”

Sam choked and sputtered a cough. Dawn’s mouth was a blessing and a curse.

“You’re right,” Wes said softly. “And for what it’s worth, I’ll regret my actions until my dying breath. There aren’t enough words to express how sorry I am.”

Sam saw Sabrina reach over and lay her hand atop Wes’s and he felt an odd mixture of emotions—anger, pity and a funny feeling of protectiveness over a sister he’d only just met. “Yes,” he said calmly. “But we aren’t who you need to worry about.”

“I know,” Wes lamented. “Faith was presumably upset.”

“She kinda laughed it off,” Dawn admitted.

Wes gave a wounded look. “She what?”

“Well, she’d kinda just gone toe-to-toe with the devil on what was possibly the most awkward date ever,” Dawn explained. “Plus Dean was looking to take someone’s head off.” She smirked at Sam. “Told ya so.”

“It was still the best idea!” Sam defended.

“I’m just saying that we both knew that wasn’t going to end well. And when he finds out about Cass—”

“One thing at a time,” Sam begged.

“Who’s Cass?” Sabrina asked.

“Your family’s guardian angel,” Dawn replied.

“What?”

Sam gave Dawn a dirty look. They weren’t going to get anywhere as long as she drove the conversation. He sighed. “Not exactly. Castiel is an angel who began helping us years ago. As life and everything progressed…” How did you sum up their relationship? “He’s more family than friend to Dean and I.”

“Oh?” Sabrina said in a small voice. “Gosh, it really sounds like you and Dean kinda got enough family already.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “No!” He paused. “Our…uncle once said that family doesn’t end in blood, but for Dean and I, it starts there. I’m really sorry he gave you a bad impression earlier. He’s just—well, he’s been off since all this started.”

“What he’s saying is that Dean is a dumbass and Sammy has spent his whole life covering for your brother’s shitty behavior.”

“Dawn, don’t,” Sam said in a more agitated tone than he intended.

For her part, she didn’t look too offended when she stared him down. “What part wasn’t true?”

“Just…” Sam shook his head as he fought to find the right words. “Dean’s dealing with a lot. We both have some serious Lucifer PTSD. Add in the fact that he and Faith started this whole crazy intense relationship—which I know is weird for her, but is really freaky seeing my brother—and then add in everything with Buffy, Spike, and the Hellmouth.” He paused and scowled. “Really everything since a few months back when Buffy and Zack were kidnapped.”

Wes bent his head in shame. “Again, my fault.”

“It is what it is,” Sam said more to Sabrina than the guilty guy. “Anyway, until we get Buffy and Spike back we’re spinning our wheels.”

“Hence why we sent Cass downstairs to find my sister,” Dawn explained. “Because the demon we thought was a friend seems to be taking longer than he should.”

“You’re friends with demons?” Sabrina asked hesitantly. “Because your file said—”

“Not friends!” Sam declared loudly as his cheeks flamed. “He’s just an ally. Sometimes.”

“And Lucifer?” Wes asked.

Sam sighed. “Until we figure out a way to get him back in the cage, we’re screwed. Best case scenario is getting through to Willow and hoping between her, you,” he said nodding to his sister, “Hermione and Harry we can come up with a solution.”

Sabrina gave a somber nod. “And no help from MACUSA if what we’ve read is true.”

Sam winced. “I only heard bits and pieces of that—we were all so focused on the Hellmouth. Do you think MACUSA _knows _they are working with evil or are they just a pawn like everyone else?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Sabrina replied with a weary smile. “Those on my level and below definitely have no idea. But Toadmore and the Cabinet… Well, I can only hope they’re more ignorant than corrupt.”

Sam was quiet a few moments. “I’d kinda like you to come in the bunker,” he said to Sabrina. “Technically you’re a Legacy like Dean and I. You deserve a chance to look over all the lore and artifacts to determine if there’s anything helpful to you.”

Sabrina’s eyes grew wide. “I’m a _what_?”

Sam smiled. “A Legacy to the Men of Letters. Our grandfather, Henry Winchester, was one. Therefore you are too.”

“Wow,” Sabrina said with awe as she leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds pretty awesome.”

“Men of Letters?” Wes said with an apprehension that told Sam he did know the group. “They were an offset of the Watchers Council.” He frowned. “A barbaric offset.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed enthusiastically. “But there’s been some major changes. The Council has taken over full control until they…”

“Stop their barbaric practices and code of conduct?”

Sam shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Good,” Wes said with a nod.

Sam knitted his brows. “So the Council _knew _what they were doing having the kids kill each other for initiation?”

“What?” Sabrina and Dawn cried in unison.

“Not implicitly,” Wes said. “But as a student that knew some studying at Kendrick’s, I can say there was certainly rumors.”

“Umm,” Sabrina began. “Can I take back my membership?”

Sam softly chuckled. “No worries. That was the British Men of Letters—the only American ones are Winchesters.” He winked at her. “You’re safe.”

“Dean’s a jackass,” Dawn stated. “But he isn’t going to kill you.” She eyed Wes. “You better watch your back.”

“Faith, yes,” Wes acknowledged grimly.

“And Rose,” Dawn added. “He’s pretty much a slayer magnet. I think Buffy and him have a bond.”

“How is she doing?” Wes asked of Sam.

Sam blushed slightly because here he was talking to a former watcher. “Good, I think. Nick has helped me some, but Giles has been a godsend. I doubt I could have made any progress without him.”

“Sammy’s modest,” Dawn practically gushed. “He’s a natural leader. The guys may have helped fill in the blanks, but Sam is the one that got through to Rose to really start taking training and research seriously.”

He scoffed at the compliment. “Dawnie’s a little biased. The Council chose me because I was a Legacy and because nobody was brave enough to come try another American slayer.”

“And Nicholas actually resigned or was he fired?” Wes questioned.

“He quit,” Sam replied. “I guess he called and resigned before he and Rose…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Before they…”

“Boinked,” Dawn supplied.

Sam was _not _going to say that stupid word. “He understood that he couldn’t be her watcher and her boyfriend.”

A wisp of a smile touched Wes’s lips. “He was always wiser than most gave him credit. And I believe he was enamored with Rosalie from the start.”

“Understatement of the century,” Dawn giggled. “Guy gave up his career, moved to Kansas and opened a demon bar just to give his gal something to slay. Then he went and named the damn thing Rosa Lee’s.”

Sam nodded. “Got a rose tattoo on his chest.”

“And basically spends every waking moment devoted to her,” Dawn added. “I can’t imagine how bad he was at hiding it.”

“It helped she was underage,” Wes said with a slight more bit of protectiveness than Sam felt he deserved to express toward the girl he’d nearly killed. “That and there was no short supply of people willing to murder him if he crossed a line.”

Dawn snorted. “Officially explains why he and Faith were ever a thing.”

Sabrina balked. “Faith dated Rosalie’s watcher?”

Wes looked comically unsettled by the question. “They had a more _casual _arrangement.”

“Fuck buddies,” Sabrina said with a nod.

Hearing her say a word like _fuck_ just made Sam giggle like a schoolboy. “What?” he demanded when all eyes turned to him. “She said it.”

Dawn smirked and rolled her eyes. “Your bros are total opposites. One tries to bang his girl on the dance floor and the other had to wait two months and get drunk to make a move.”

“_Dawn!_” Sam cried in humiliation. “Seriously?”

The women exchanged a knowing look before both snickered. “Well, from what I’ve seen, he was worth the wait,” Sabrina told her.

Now Sam was ready to crawl in a hole and hide. Dawn reached over and took his hand. “Jury’s still out, but I think you might be right.”

Sam cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So unless you guys have other plans, I think it would be good to stick here for a bit. Help contain Lucifer and maybe intercede if Willow tries anything.” He looked squarely at his sister. “If you’d like to come to the bunker, I’d run it by Rose, Faith, and Dean.”

“Dean?” the other three voices questioned in unison.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, Dean. Once he realizes that you guys are staying close I’m pretty confident he’s going to want to work on a better impression.”

Sabrina looked at Wes with a hopeful expression. He gave her a soft smile and she lit up in a way that warmed Sam’s heart—his sister was really a beautiful soul inside and out. “Okay,” she said turning to her brother with a grin. “I think that it sounds pretty awesome actually.”

“Awesome,” Sam agreed.

Now if he could get their brother’s head out of his ass long enough to answer the phone.

*~*~*

Her ducky was dead.

She realized after the phone rang the third time and he didn’t change his long and somewhat annoying snoring that he was officially out for the count. And Faith was pretty jealous.

She untangled herself from her cuddle monster and followed the faint light of the screen to find his phone still in the jeans he’d stripped off onto the floor. Pulling it out just as the ringing ceased, she saw where Sam had tried to call.

She fumbled around until she found her dress and then maneuvered herself to the bathroom. When the phone notified of a voicemail, she didn’t hesitate as she broke in and listened. She didn’t really care at this point about his boundaries—if there was trouble at home she would smother him with a pillow.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice played through the speaker. “You took your car and your bag so I know you ran off again. Real mature. I know you’re pissed at me, but only because I was right and you know it.” Sam released a heavy sigh. “Look, I know things didn’t go the way with Sabrina that you planned and I’m sorry about that. If it makes you feel any better, she still would like to get to know you. Truth of the matter is she’s pretty cool.” There was a long pause. “She’s a Legacy, Dean. And that entitles her to the bunker. I told her that Wes is a definite no, but I wanted to see if you and Faith would be okay if she came in and checked out the lore. She may know how to get Lucifer back in the cage. We don’t know unless we try.” Another beat. “Just call or text me, jerk.”

As the message ended, Faith contemplated texting Sam the okay but decided that was a boundary she wouldn’t cross. Dean needed to make things right with his brother and his new sister. She’d push him to make the right call in the morning.

For now, she had another plan. Slipping the dress on and making sure her crotch was covered, she scrolled through his contacts and dialed “666.”

“Listen here, you black-eyed fucker,” she hissed when it went to voicemail. “You may jerk Dean’s chain, but you won’t mine. Get your fucking ass here _now_.” She hung up and leaned on the counter, waiting.

It was a long shot, but she was running out of patience and options. She needed something—and right now her slayer sister was top of her list. But the minutes ticked by and nothing happened. With bitter defeat, she gave up, grabbed the phone and opened the door.

She almost pissed herself when she saw him standing in front of her. “_Jesus Christ!_” she snapped. 

“Not quite.”

Glancing over to the bed, she saw Dean was covered and still fast asleep. So she grabbed the King of Hell by the arm and jerked him inside the bathroom with her before shutting the door. “About fucking time,” she growled.

He gave her an amused shrug. “What? I waited outside like a gentleman. You’re human—I didn’t want to enter during a bowel movement.”

“You better get to talking before I move _your_ bowels, asshole.”

Crowley roamed his eyes up and down her body. “That is one hell of a dress there, Ms. Lehane. Please tell me there’s nothing underneath.”

Faith’s skin crawled—she was sick of being hit on by sleazy perverts today. She clenched her legs together self-consciously and instantly regretted not getting more dressed for this conversation. “The only reason I don’t kill you now is—”

“You can’t?” he smugly cut in.

“Because _Buffy_,” she countered. “Where the fuck is she?”

“In Hell.”

In a rush, she grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the door. “Don’t fuck with me, Crowley.”

“Tempting,” he replied all too calm for Faith’s liking. “But from the look of things, a certain snoring Winchester beat me to the punch. Unless…” His eyes laughed at her. “Did you wear him out before you had your fill? I imagine as a slayer your _endurance _is quite impressive.”

She was definitely regretting not having anything sharp and pointy to stab the motherfucker at the moment. She knocked his head so hard against the door the wood creaked and popped. “One more time,” she said darkly. “Where. Is. Buffy?”

“Enough,” he said, blasting her back with a burst of energy that caused the mirror to crack as she flew against the sink. “I told you she’s still in Hell.”

“Why?” she said more desperate than she intended. “Why isn’t she back yet?”

“Her soul is more of a challenge than I had suspected.”

Faith stilled at that and she knew the damn demon had to hear the way her heart started pounding in her chest. “Her soul?”

“It’s…stuck, for lack of a better way of putting things.”

“Stuck where?” Faith was terrified to know the answer.

“For now somewhere I can’t reach.” He shook his head in disgust. “But I’m bloody well trying. Do a favor,” he said as he gestured toward the door. “Tell your boyfriend to shut up and keep his pants on.” Then he cackled. “Well, it’s too late for that, but at least tell him to leave me alone and let me work.”

“So you still plan on bringing her back?” Faith didn’t trust the fucker one iota, but until Dean said otherwise she’d give him the benefit of a doubt.

“As soon as I can get access to her soul, she’s all yours.”

Well, Faith really didn’t want to deal with a soulless, vampire, slayer Buffy. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Whatever. Just hurry the fuck up. If you make me come down there, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I’ll keep the light on, darling.” With that, he was gone and Faith was left wondering if she felt better or worse about how shit was playing out.


	78. Chapter 78

“It’s not enough I have those blasted Winchesters ringing me day and night. Now the bloody Slayer is on my case,” Crowley muttered as he stalked back inside his private office, careful as always to shut the door behind him. “Granted, at least Ms. Lehane is at least pleasing to look at.”

Buffy did her best not to react, as had become her tactic. Pretend whatever Crowley said was of no interest to her, only respond when directly addressed. She was scenery and nothing more. A life-size decoration. Thus far it had worked to keep her from being strung up like an animal ready for the slaughter again—he hadn’t yet removed the chains from around her wrists and ankles, but he seemed content to allow her to lounge on the chaise. Except when it came time to eat—then he insisted she stand in the middle of the room on a tablecloth, lest a drop of ruby red blood hit his fine Italian leather.

The blood was human still—something she’d have to contend with once she returned topside. Buffy had never consumed human blood like this before, and she could already tell it was going to be a bitch to wean off. And she _had _to wean off, otherwise people she loved—like, say, her sister—were going to suddenly smell like lunch, and that was something she couldn’t allow.

Returning to that world was going to be difficult enough as it was, given how she’d left things. At least Crowley was keeping her fed—as long as she wasn’t starving, Buffy figured she could probably avoid making lunges for people’s jugulars. Or so she hoped.

She’d need to grab the ring back from the son of a bitch before she left. If Faith or Rosalie felt the need to stake some sense into her, she’d like to have the chance to stick around so the lesson sank in.

“Honestly, it isn’t like I left them helpless,” Crowley continued, addressing the floor as he moved around his office. “You might be the best of them, love, but I happen to know Faith is no spring chicken. Did I mention the dress she had on? A terrible shame she didn’t let the thing ride up a bit more. Might have made my millennia.” He glanced up and looked at her directly. “Don’t suppose you know what that was all about, do you? The girl looked well and truly fucked, to which I say, _you’re welcome_. Squirrel knows when to bring his A-game, I’m sure, but there are certain moves that can only be learned by demonic influence. As you well know, of course. I imagine the best of your lovers would be dear William. Without that sickly soul of his, he can really tear loose.”

She was going to tear something, all right. His flesh from his throat being at the top of the list.

“I fear the dear might be going a bit soft in the head, though.” Crowley sighed. “An unfortunate side-effect to hanging around the Winchesters. She called me there to ask about you. Demand to know where you were.”

Buffy felt her lips twitch.

“Here I thought the two of you weren’t particularly chummy,” Crowley went on, this time glaring at her as though she had fed him a lie. “Don’t worry; I assured her that you would return as soon as your soul is secure. I neglected to mention that the odds of securing said soul are proving to be rather astronomical. No sense taking away all their faith. Pun intended.”

The knowledge that Faith had reached out to find her was heartening, though Buffy wasn’t sure what to do with it. Crowley, like the rest of the known universe, seemed taken with Faith, but given that he held the Winchesters—Dean, especially—in high regard, this meant little to Buffy’s chances of escape. If Dean’s repeated phone calls and messages had no impact, then Faith stepping in would have even less so.

Buffy’s options remained as they had been before—quietly store her strength, wait for Crowley to let his guard down around her, and make her move. And hope that, in the time between, Spike didn’t do something to get himself injured or worse. Neither one of them were great with the having-of-patience, but both could slow down and make with the stealth if need be. It was how he’d gotten her out of Wolfram and Hart the first time. But she knew better than to attempt to predict future behavior based on past, at least where her mate was concerned.

God, she missed him. Every damn thing about him, but mostly how he could fill the silences. How he could make even the direst situation seem like an easily scalable obstacle. When she found herself in situations like this, she tended to rely on her inner Spike, imagine what he’d tell her if he were with her. The things he’d notice, the plans he’d come up with, how he’d keep her centered while everything else around her seemed to fall apart. Except thinking about him was painful for a whole host of reasons she couldn’t afford to dive inside, not the least of which was the knowledge of how badly she’d hurt him in their last seconds together. That she hadn’t trusted him to understand that she needed to do what she’d done, to take that dive. That she hadn’t allowed him to make the same choice he’d made anyway. If she saw him again—_when _she saw him again—he was going to let her have it in ways he hadn’t since before the chip and before he’d realized he loved her. That much she felt through the claim—his love and determination, yes, but also his fury. It threatened to overtake him at times, just how mad he was at her, so thick he might have choked were he anything other than a vampire. That she felt him as strongly as she did gave her hope that he was getting nearer, but Buffy didn’t know how these things worked, only that they did.

“I had given up on extracting your soul,” Crowley said, moving toward her now with unmistakable intent, “but I would so hate to disappoint the lady. And if at first you don’t succeed…” He shot out a hand, the tips of his fingers digging into her chest before she could think to respond. And there it was again, the pain. That sensation of being ripped apart from her insides, like her useless organs were trying to mutiny and burrow their way through muscle and tendon and bone until they burst from her flesh to freedom.

Buffy threw her head back, her mouth falling open, a silent scream riding off her lips.

“Try, try again,” Crowley purred. “Who knows? Maybe I’ve knocked something loose. Let’s find out, shall we?”

*~*~*

Most places, even the scummiest of scum motels, had something to pass for breakfast. And on most days, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to grab whatever the half-conscious staff had shoved beside the microwave. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to return to Faith with a bruised banana or a bowl full of stale cereal covered in questionable milk. Not that the gas station across the street would have better wares, but the law of averages suggested they couldn’t be worse.

There were things to decide this morning, he knew, namely whether or not he thought he could stomach going back home just yet, and his suspicion that the answer to that was no. Yeah, he felt like shit for bolting out of town, but it was a feeling he’d more or less become accustomed to living with. Lucifer being hot for Faith meant she would likely remain his primary focus, so getting her away from his family seemed solid on paper. That it just so happened to coincide with what he wanted was a happy accident. Unless Faith was right and Lucifer was planning on setting up some elaborate “told you so” using Sammy, Cass, or Mom as collateral damage. Or maybe now Sabrina, since Sam had decided to invite her to join the fucking party and she’d decided to make herself an easy target.

Now Sammy wanted to invite her to the bunker. Not that Dean hated the idea, but he kinda hated the idea. Also more hated himself for hating it. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t want his sister touching his things—well, mostly, but that went for anyone—and everything to do with the fact that he so didn’t want or need another person to worry about. And as much as he loved his family, as much as he craved connection, adding more people to his life meant he had more to lose. Point of fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had as much to lose as he did right now, which wasn’t helping his mood.

It was only a matter of time before he started growling at Faith too, and he didn’t want that. She could handle him when he was in a dark headspace, he knew, and she’d do it without complaint. Well, she’d kick his ass lopsided and he’d deserve it. But more than anything he didn’t want to fall into the Dean Winchester golden standard of pushing away the people he loved the most, needed the most, just because he was afraid of his own dumb-assery. And the more he realized he loved Faith, the more he worried about losing her.

There was the real Hell and there was the Hell that occupied his mind. Sometimes, the real Hell had fucking nothing on that one square foot of real estate.

Dean sighed as he jogged across the parking lot. He supposed the fact that the gas station was cleaner than the motel lobby said something sad about his standards. But Faith hadn’t said shit about the accommodations—not last night as they’d checked in, not when one of the legs on the bed had splintered under her enthusiastic bouncing, not even when the postage-stamp-sized shower had lost its hot water ninety seconds in. She’d shrieked and laughed and flung drops at his face, but she hadn’t complained once.

Fuck, he didn’t deserve her. And that scared him more than anything. ‘Cause one of these days, sooner rather than later, she’d clue in and take a hike.

Dean went through the motions inside—grabbed a couple of cups of coffee, some fresh-looking pastries as well as a few energy bars and bottles of water. He wasn’t sure what the plans were for when they left town, but the selfish part of him wanted to find a reason to stay on the road just a bit longer. Let things settle back home, give him more time just the two of them before they had to face the music and start this shit all over again.

He had just made it across the street, balancing a drink carrier and sack of goodies in one hand as he searched for his motel key with the other when the last voice he wanted to hear sounded from behind him.

“All kidding aside, this is seriously where you brought her?”

Dean froze, every line in his body going rigid.

“You really must be good in bed,” Lucifer continued, “’cause there literally isn’t a single other reason on Dad’s green earth that she’d stick with your ass otherwise. I’m offended on her behalf, I don’t mind telling you.”

Fuck, not now. _Not fucking now_.

But of course now. Because why the hell not? Dean clenched his jaw and turned, itching for his gun even if he knew it wouldn’t do any fucking good. But like all security blankets, it had a way of providing calm just by being in his hand.

Lucifer snickered and batted a hand. “Easy there, tiger. I come in peace.”

“Yeah. Buying that.”

“As much fun as flaying you alive would be, that’s not the way to win fair maiden.” He grinned. “But that’s okay, I’ve decided. It’ll be so much more satisfying to watch you sabotage yourself out of this little…” He pulled a face. “Do you really call it a relationship?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry. I’m saving myself for one special lady.” Lucifer wrinkled his nose and gave the building another hard look. “Seriously, man, what does she see in you? I can’t get my head around it. Even the guy who got her killed wouldn’t bring her to this roach-hole. Does she have a fetish I should know about? Or is it some boring human complex like”—he pitched his voice and made air-quotes—“_low self-esteem_.” He snickered again, tilting his head. “You can’t tell me you haven’t been wondering the same, Dean-o. I can see it all over your face.”

Yeah, well, that had nothing to do with the devil and everything to do with his own issues. “Hey, asswipe,” Dean shot back with borrowed bravado, “if last night didn’t make it clear, the lady ain’t interested. Desperate ain’t a good look on you.”

“She’s not interested _yet_,” Lucifer replied, rocking on his heels. “Just got to get creative with the equation. First figuring out what makes you so special. Is it that she likes hopeless cases? I mean, word on the wire is that’s what drew her to that Wes guy in the first place. Is it true he’s now boffing your sister?” He let out a little titter that had every inch of Dean tightening. “Classic. What is it about this guy that’s catnip to the Winchester women? First Faithy, then little sis. Oh, oh, is that why you hit the road so fast? Worried about a little hometown competition? Wouldn’t blame you. I mean, there’s history there. And we all know just how deep those slayer/watcher bonds can run.”

Dean worked his throat, every nerve in his body screaming at him to do something—leap into action. But he couldn’t move. Hell, at the moment, breathing was a bit of a thing. He and Faith hadn’t discussed Wes much—he’d taken his cues from her, and the last thing he’d wanted to turn into, especially with everything on the table, was some needy motherfucker. She already knew he loved her, after all. Knew how serious he was. And Faith was a lot of things, the foremost of which being honest to a fault. If there was something on her mind, she shared it. She didn’t fuck around to spare his feelings, didn’t do the head games bullshit. If she was thinking of Wes at all, she’d tell him.

Wouldn’t she?

“The guy got her killed,” Dean said, hating how small he sounded. Hating that Lucifer heard it too. “Ain’t too worried about her missin’ the good ole days.”

“Ah. But the way I hear it, that was an _accident_.” Lucifer took a step forward. “And really, what’s a little accidental homicide between lovers? Didn’t she torture the snot out of him once just for funsies? Wasn’t even about him—she was trying to get some other dude to kill her. The guy was convenient and he still wanted her to take a ride on his pogo stick. Still got all mushy for her, even knowing what our girl can do when she’s off the wagon. And we both know just how much Faith loves a good sob-story.” The devil plucked one of the coffees out of the drink carrier and took a long, indulgent sip, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “I’m willing to bet Wes will know how to really turn on the waterworks, too. Plus, the accent. Chicks dig a good British accent.”

Dean was at war with himself, torn between throwing the coffee container in full at Lucifer’s head and trying to take a swing just on principle, and also knowing he was showing way more than he was comfortable with. Knowing that Faith, like Sam, was a weakness Lucifer would exploit and exploit and exploit until he got the reaction he wanted. But he wasn’t a guy who could stand still, not with every instinct screaming at him for movement.

It was in the hair of a second before arriving at a decision and making his move, the door behind him cracked open and Faith was there, moving in a blur of fury and landing a punch so hard against Lucifer’s jaw that he actually staggered back.

“Are you kidding me with this shit?” Faith snapped, drawing back her fist and landing another blow before the devil could recover. “Take a fucking hint.”

Panting, Lucifer looked up slowly, flashing her a bloody grin. “There’s my girl. And baby, you are still _rocking _that dress.” He shuffled forward, giving the low hemline a long, considering look. “What do I need to do to earn one of those high-kicks, ‘cause I’m ninety-nine percent sure someone isn’t wearing panties.”

The purchases he’d made at the gas station hit the pavement with a _thunk_, and Dean was moving, but not fast enough. Faith had slayer-strength and speed on her side and had backhanded the devil again with a guttural cry before Dean could get his arms around her. While he was mostly certain Lucifer wouldn’t kill her, _mostly _wasn’t good enough.

But Faith was running on something beyond fear now. “I can do this all day, motherfucker,” she snarled, raising her fists. Were it not for the fact that her body was shaking so hard, Dean wouldn’t have known she was afraid at all. “Ain’t gotta sanctuary spell to hide behind now.”

The devil, still grinning, booped her nose. “You’re cute when you’re feisty,” he said.

This time when Faith lunged, she froze in mid-air, the back of her dress flashing upward just enough to have her ass on display, the anti-possession tattoo winking at him under a ripple of fabric. Dean was moving before he realized it, and frozen too before his brain caught up with his muscles. And this time, there was no shoving back his fear. No swallowing it or hoping the devil didn’t see. He thought about what Cass had said last night, that Lucifer didn’t need Faith’s consent to do jack shit to her, and for a horrible moment he wondered if that was what was about to happen. Here—right here—Faith wearing next-to-nothing and unable to fight back, Dean—weak, human Dean—forced to watch.

A combination of pain and fury tore through him, strong enough he thought for a moment he might have regained control of his body. But he hadn’t—it was all on the inside.

“You truly are a work of art,” Lucifer said as he walked around her, taking his time to drag his fingers across the exposed flesh of her ass, circling the tattoo, and giving one round cheek a nice squeeze before moving on. “Such a shame you had to take all that back to this.” He waved at Dean without looking at him. “He’s human, darling. He taps out early. If he hasn’t yet, it’s just because the novelty of having you in his bed hasn’t worn off. But trust me, it’s coming. No human boy is made to keep up with you.” He paused, winked, and kissed her brow. “When you finally clue-in to that, angel, you know where to find me.”

And with that, the devil disappeared.

*~*~*

If anyone had asked before, Faith would have said she’d already hit her breaking point. She would’ve been dead wrong. Her breaking point was this, right here. It was being frozen in mid-air as the motherfucking devil groped her ass. It was realizing that he could do anything he wanted to do to her and she wouldn’t be able to fight back. It was the knowledge that for as strong as she was, she wasn’t strong enough.

The second her body was hers again, she barreled into their room and made a beeline for the bathroom. The bathroom with its cracked mirror, a leftover from Crowley’s visit last night. Crowley, who could also do whatever he wanted to do to her with that freeze-frame magic of his. When this had happened before, she hadn’t allowed herself to really ruminate on what it might mean for her—helplessness was not something Faith took in stride, and it had been easier, more comfortable, to assume that those parlor tricks were a one-off. That they wouldn’t happen on the regular.

Lucifer could have done anything to her just then. He’d grabbed her ass but he could have palmed her cunt. He could have stuck his dick inside her. He could’ve done whatever he liked and she wouldn’t have been able to do jack shit to stop him.

Faith fell to her knees before the toilet, grabbed the sides, and emptied the contents of her stomach. Her body spasmed and her gut roiled, and every time she thought she might be done, another image occurred to her and she just kept retching. It was a few seconds before she realized she wasn’t alone in the bathroom, that her hair was out of her face and Dean was rubbing her back. But that was what snapped her out of it—what broke the cycle. What enabled her to seize control.

“Thanks,” she said hoarsely, pawing at the handle with half-strength. “And sorry.”

Dean went still behind her. “Sorry?”

“Not exactly attractive.” Faith fought to her feet, which were wobblier than she could ever remember them being. Her legs felt downright rubbery, like she might keel over at any second. “Ducky, you don’t have to—”

Dean whirled her around and crushed her to him, holding her hard to his chest. So hard she wasn’t sure if the trembles she felt were hers or his, but it didn’t matter. She wrapped herself around him and that was it—whatever had been holding her up this long cried uncle and caved, but he was there to catch her, lending her his strength when he shouldn’t have to. Faith dissolved, sobbing hard into his shoulder and clinging to him. Focusing on the warmth of his body and the steady, sure thudding of his heart against her. His familiar, comforting scent in her nostrils. How he gave so much of himself without thought. Without being asked.

“Ain’t no _have to _about this,” he murmured into her hair before kissing her temple. “Think I don’t know that bein’ in it means all the moments? Every single one of them, baby.”

Well, shit. She’d just about gotten herself under control. Faith clung to him a bit longer, willing her body to calm. When she felt she could, she relaxed her hold on him and leaned against the sink, gripping the edge there.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said, her throat scratchy. “And it scares me shitless. Last night scared me shitless and I don’t think I can keep it up. Powerless is somethin’ I’ve never been. Even with the pervy assholes my mom used to bring home. Any of them got handsy with me and I’d come at them with a butter knife.”

Dean slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her head up. “That happen a lot?” he asked in a dangerous voice, his eyes hard. “How old were you?”

“This was before I was Called, so…”

“Tell me you put their asses in jail.”

Faith lifted a shoulder. “Wasn’t the way shit ran in my neighborhood. Though I did send one to the hospital once.” She grinned as though it was funny, but wasn’t surprised or upset when he didn’t grin back. “But this? I don’t know how to fight. How do you fight when it’s the goddamned devil?” Tears stung her eyes again. “’Cause if he wants to, there ain’t no way to stop him.”

“We kill him. Or find a way to put him back in the cage.” Dean pressed his brow to hers, trembling. “We do something. I promise, we’ll find a way. If we can’t get through to Willow, then we call back the Hogwarts gang. Have them juice you up like before the fight, so no one can touch you unless you’re on the home team.”

Right. She’d forgotten about that. How every time Lucifer had tried to touch her that night, he’d been thrown back. It was a good solution, but not a permanent one. The spell had a life-cycle of twenty minutes.

“If that don’t work, we see if the wizards can Avada Kedavra his ass,” Dean went on. “Hell, it was probably a mistake sending them back without tryin’ that at least one more time. But we’ll find a way.” He cupped her cheek. “I promise, baby.”

“Don’t kiss me. I have puke breath.”

He snickered. “Promise I’ve tasted worse,” he teased. “But yeah. You better nuke that thing.” He took a step back. “Do you…wanna head back?”

Yes and no. The bunker was home now, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to face everyone just yet. After Lucifer last night. “Do you? Sam wants to bring your sister in.”

Dean chuckled. “We really gotta get you your own phone, Kitty.”

“Your ass passed out last night and I needed to make sure it wasn’t an emergency. Ain’t gonna say sorry.”

“Uh huh.” He paused. “She can come by. Settle in. Ain’t sure I’m gonna be good company for a bit yet, so it might be good to keep my distance another day or so. Unless…” The smile in his eyes faded. “You want to see…anyone.”

“Only person I wanna see right now is B, but that ain’t happenin’,” she muttered. “Another thing you missed last night after I put you in a sex coma. Gave Crowley a call and the fucker swung by. Said that he needs to secure her soul before he brings her back, and given that the last thing we need is a vamped-up soulless slayer running about, I say that makes sense.” She swallowed. “He said the interruptions are costing him time and we need to cool our jets.”

Dean nodded, and she could tell there was more on the matter there that he would circle back to, he didn’t leap on the fact that she’d called Crowley here. “Meant… Fay, if you need to see him—talk to him—I get that. Think it might be best that I don’t see the fucker, myself, but—”

“You mean Wes?”

He paused again, his throat working. “Yeah.”

“Ducky, if we cross paths with that asshole, I’m liable to hit him so hard his contacts pierce his eyeball, and that ain’t the kinda impression I wanna make on your sister.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sammy and me are touch and go. I think your mom likes me, but I ain’t gonna bet on that. Sabrina might be the only shot I have to win anyone I ain’t sleepin’ with over.”

Dean studied her for a moment, then smiled gently and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I love you,” he said, and fuck those words went straight to her blood. She felt them—felt him, warm and vivid and alive—and she wanted so badly to say it back, fears aside, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not yet.

“Keep tellin’ you I don’t expect anything,” he said as though reading her mind. “Just like sayin’ it. And love that you like hearin’ it.”

“I _love_ hearing it.”

“I know. Makes you cream extra hard.”

“You notice that, huh?”

“Not the kinda thing a guy misses.” He stepped back, winked. “I’ll call Sammy and see if there’s a good reason for us to stay on the road another night or so. Find another bed to break. Sound good?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Hold that thought.” He spun her around to face the shower, then gave her ass a little push. “And I’ll join you in a sec.”

“You know we don’t both fit in there.”

“And here I thought you’d learned not to challenge me.”

Faith snickered and started the water. “Ducky, why the fuck do you think I said it?”


	79. Chapter 79

Sam was doing his best to keep calm, but his mind was a hot mess of worst-case scenarios. Dean hadn’t called back and Cass hadn’t checked in and Crowley was radio silent. While logic told him those facts meant nothing, his brain kept flashing images of a dead brother, friend, and demon.

His morning run and shower after hadn’t done much to ease his nerves, but he was basically operating on autopilot at this point. Until they had a solid plan on Lucifer and Buffy and Spike were home, there was literally nothing else he could do.

“Wow,” Dawn said as she sat on the edge of his bed when he entered his room. She smacked her lips. “Damn, I forget how fine you are sometimes.”

He chuckled lightly as he felt his cheeks warm. With as many people as now resided here in the bunker, he probably should stop walking back and forth from the shower in a towel. “I guess I should buy a bathrobe,” he teased as he shut the door.

Dawn shrugged, a flirty smirk on her lips. “I don’t mind if you give the ladies a peek. Just makes ‘em jealous of what I got.”

Sam snickered. “Pretty sure every guy here is in pretty good shape. One’s an actual vampire. The rest are all hunters and watchers.” He smiled. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

“Honey,” she said, arching a brow as she stood up and moved toward him. “There’s in shape and then there’s”—she stopped as she ran a hand down his chest and then across his abdomen—“your shape.”

“Heh,” he said breathlessly as she traced the hem of the towel across his waist. He worked his throat and tensed as his body reacted to her touch. “I…I thought we could check in with LA this morning.”

“Sure,” she said casually, her eyes focused more on his torso than his face. Her fingers were skating around his flesh near where he’d tied the towel.

“And m-maybe get a hold of a medium. If Buffy is in Hell—”

Dawn untwisted the knot and the towel dropped to the floor along with Sam’s brain.

“First things first,” Dawn said as she wrapped a hand around his growing erection. “Every leader works best with a clear mind.” She began pumping his length in her palm. “Sit down.”

Sam stumbled to the edge of the bed as she kept her grip on his shaft. When he lowered his ass to the mattress, she gracefully dropped to her knees in front of him. His eyes went wide with the realization that she had more than a handjob on her mind. “Dawnie, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Sam,” she teased before opening her mouth and slipping the head of his cock between her lips.

He had to give her credit—she’d officially found a way to clear his mind. All he could focus on was her and how gorgeous she looked as she stared up at him with his dick sliding in and out her mouth—how good her tongue felt as it swirled around his cock as she used a hand to massage what her mouth couldn’t hold. A moment of spontaneity had turned into possibly the most erotic time of his life.

She moaned around him and the sound and the vibration had his hips jerking forward in need. His hands combed through her hair as he watched her work her magic and he was more turned on by how much she seemed to be enjoying the act than anything else.

Sam gasped as she kept working more of his length into her mouth until he felt her swallow as he hit the back of her throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to hold back from coming in her mouth—he’d like to give back some of the pleasure he was receiving.

The phone startled both of them. It rang a second time and Sam stared at it on his nightstand numbly. His brain was too mushy to comprehend how to make it stop.

Dawn’s mouth left his cock with an audible pop, but her hand remained running lazy strokes up and down his shaft. “Baby, you have to answer it,” she said softly.

“_Now?_” he balked. “Can’t they—”

She leaned over and grabbed his cell and read the screen. “It’s Dean,” she announced before answering it and thrusting it up at him.

“Seriously?” Sam gasped as she kept jerking him off while he was supposed to have a conversation with his brother. She just gave him a wicked grin and nodded at the phone.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice came through the speaker.

He swallowed and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah,” he clipped back.

There was a pause. “Didn’t hear your message until this morning. Apparently I’m a harder sleeper than I thought.”

“No big deal,” he said in an attempt to sound casual. He even shrugged as though his brother could see him getting a handjob.

“Crowley stopped by last night. Lucifer this morning.”

Dawn chose the worst moment ever to start licking his dick. Sam gasped and looked down at her. “_Shit!_”

Dean released a humorless chuckle, seeming to think he was talking to him. “Yeah, I slept through Crowley. Guess Fay called him looking for info on Buffy.”

Dammit, this all sounded important, but nothing really seemed greater than Dawn’s tongue swirling around the tip of his cock. “Really?” he ground out.

Dean paused. “Uhh, yeah. You okay? I mean I know yesterday went south, but you and me gonna be able to put this aside until shit’s settled?”

“Yup.”

“You still running? ‘Cause you’re pretty out of breath.”

“What did he say?” He wasn’t about to admit the truth.

“Not good. There’s a complication with Buffy’s soul.”

“_Stop_,” he hissed at Dawn as he jerked back. “What?” he asked Dean.

“I dunno because I was dead to the world, but according to Faith, he said he’d bring her back after he got her soul. So it sounds to me like—”

“Yeah,” Sam said, following his brother’s thought. Then he looked down at the pretty little thing glaring up at him as his heart nearly broke. He didn’t know how to tell her this new information without making her cry.

“Then the devil decided to show up this morning,” Dean continued.

Sam sighed and took a shaky breath. “What happened?”

“More of the usual,” Dean spat.

“You guys okay?”

Dean blew out a breath and Sam could hear it before he spoke. “I guess. Not really.” He was quiet a beat. “Sammy, you were right.”

Not at all what he expected. “Huh?”

“I dunno, but you were right—about all of it. You made the right call yesterday bringing in Sabrina and I agree she has as much right to the bunker as you and me. She’s as much a Winchester as either one of us, even if I’m still reeling that Dad went and had another love child without telling us.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, I don’t know Dad actually _knew_ about Sabrina. According to her, her mom didn’t have much love for NoMajes growing up.”

“I’m just calling us Muggles,” Dean retorted. “Cooler word.”

Sam scoffed. “Whatever. Just saying that Sabrina’s pretty much on the same page. This is all weird and new.”

“Yeah and then add in the fact she’s running around with…” Dean sighed. “Are they actually, you know…”

Sam swallowed. “It wasn’t confirmed when I talked to them, but I think there’s something—”

“You talked to _him_?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I did,” he said evenly. “And I made it clear that he wasn’t welcome until Rose and Faith _both_ agreed.”

Sam could almost envision the roll of his brother’s eyes as he huffed loudly. “Whatever.”

“Dean.” He knew he shouldn’t push his luck, but he couldn’t help it. “What _exactly _is up between you and Faith? I’ve never seen you this way about a woman—except maybe Lisa after you two were together a year.”

The line was quiet and Sam feared Dean might have hung up. After checking to see if the call was still active, he waited for his brother to explode in some burst of righteous indignation.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” he whispered thickly. “I keep trying to figure it out and I just _can’t_. Sometimes I think maybe it is some kinda spell because it just don’t make a lick of sense.” He sighed. “And it’s not like Lisa—it’s stronger. With Lisa, I had to choose who I wanted to be, but with Faith I don’t. With Fay… She makes me want to _live _again, Sammy. Not just survive. And I can’t remember when I felt like that last.”

“So that’s it? She’s like your mission now?”

“No,” he balked. Then he sighed. “I told you I don’t get it. I know it’s not been enough time and I know it doesn’t make any fucking sense.” He paused. “She’s in a coffee shop right now using my laptop to find a case. Something to occupy our time until—”

“You’re not coming home?”

He didn’t speak a few breaths. “Not yet. I need a bit to clear my head and with Lucifer sniffing about, the wisest move is to keep him away from Rose and you and everyone until we got a plan to lock him up or kill him.”

“Dean,” he warned.

“Fay said he made a vague threat about you versus her in some _Sophie’s_ _Choice_ kinda deal. Don’t want to play that out and don’t want him getting some bright idea to jack with Baby Spice to get Faith weak.”

“What about you two?”

“It’ll be okay. As long as I don’t fuck things up, it’ll be okay.”

Sam could tell he was talking about their relationship more than their safety. “Just…check in later and let me know where you land.”

“Will do. And don’t go making our sister all lame like you before I get back.”

Sam chuckled as he hung up the phone. All things considered, it was good to hear from Dean.

“So, where were we?” Dawn said with a playful smile.

His heart broke again at the sight of her. Reaching down, he picked her up off the floor. “Dawnie, we need to talk.”

*~*~*

Dean watched her from the Impala for a few minutes after he got off the phone. He hadn’t told Sam he was in love because he didn’t know if Sam would understand. He’d loved his college girlfriend, yeah, but had he ever been in the kinda love that made you question your sanity or reason for existing? Somehow he doubted it.

And he still didn’t get it himself. None of the logistics made any sense—it was too soon, he was too broken and she was too fucked up. She’d literally just come back to life from being murdered by her boyfriend and now she was dating some dude who had gone and fallen hopelessly in love with her. And when did he start letting his guard down to let this shit happen?

The moment he first laid eyes on her. His obsession had started that night in the cemetery just before she’d died. He’d dreamed about her countless times over the past couple of months—each time awaking in a pool of sweat as he watched her vanish into that white burst of light.

He didn’t think he’d told her that. It wasn’t exactly the kinda thing you tossed into casual conversation. ‘By the way, I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks.’ He didn’t know if it played a part in how things had progressed so far so fast, but he thought it might. He’d been connected to her before she’d ever come back.

She looked out the window at him and beckoned him with a crook of her finger. Like a puppy, he hopped out the car and made his way inside to sit across from her at the tiny table.

“You got something?” he asked.

“Don’t laugh,” she warned as she looked up at him with a pout. “It’s slim pickings unless we wanna start taking off somewhere like Oregon or Mississippi.”

He knew she still wanted to stay pretty close to base in case Lucifer decided to start coming after the fam. “What is it?”

“Well, I decided to Google haunted spots in Kansas.”

“You know most of those are bullshit, right?”

She was a hot and scary bitch when she tossed him looks like the one she was now. “You fuck with me and I’ll shove this laptop up your ass, D.”

He bit his lip, but knew she saw the humor in his eyes. He grabbed the cup of coffee she had on the table and took a sip. “French vanilla?” he asked with his sweetest smile.

“Bite me,” she huffed as she grabbed the cup from his grasp. “And listen. I found a handful of places around the state that have some promise. My pick of the litter is one that claims to have some poltergeist activity.”

Dean shrugged and let her take a drink before stealing the coffee from her again. He had to admit that he liked the French vanilla twist. “Okay, so where we heading?”

She looked relieved that he hadn’t given her more shit. Truth was he was pretty desperate to avoid going home so if it meant a wasted day trip somewhere, it was cool as long as she was by his side. “Old theater that now is a church.” She looked down at the screen. “It’s over in Lawrence, which is—”

“Yeah,” Dean cut in. “And nope.”

Her brow was knitted in confusion as she looked up at him. “What? I figured we could play the whole engaged couple game again. This time with a happier ending. Maybe find a confessional to desecrate.”

Moments like these reminded him that there was still a lot they didn’t know about each other. “I was born in Lawrence,” he said softly. “It was where Mom died and there’s a cemetery there where… It’s where Sammy took Lucifer to the cage.”

“Oh,” she said and her mouth remained an open circle for a minute as it all processed. Then in typical Faith fashion, she shook her head and looked back down at the screen. “Ten-four, rubber ducky. Hutchinson has a creepy lady that roams an old library. She ain’t done anything much, but might as well nip it in the bud, eh?”

He almost professed his love to her once again but stopped himself by reminding himself that she always got a little uncomfortable when he did. She kept feeling guilty that she couldn’t say it back. And deep down he didn’t expect she ever would. But until she left him for Wes or some other guy, he’d just be grateful for what he had. “Sounds like a plan.”

She chugged the rest of her drink before standing up. “Gonna take a piss. I’m driving,” she declared as she walked off.

A pair of women a couple of tables overlooked to Faith and then him with abject disgust. He just smiled and shrugged. “She’s from Boston,” he offered as he grabbed his laptop and headed to the car.

He didn’t complain that she was hogging his wheels or when she flipped the station over to some lame No Doubt song. Instead, he looked up on his phone the best hotels in town. While there wasn’t anything like a Ritz or a Waldorf Astoria, there was a Marriott that, compared to their accommodations last night, looked like a palace. He went ahead and booked a suite while she bopped along with the radio.

Then he got to looking at the delivery options in town. If he could get some flowers and maybe a little something like some champagne and fruit. How much extra would he have to pay for whipped cream and chocolate sauce? Surely he wasn’t the first dude in Hutchinson, Kansas who wanted woo a lady.

Now if he could get all the songs he’d listed on his phone, he’d be in business.

*~*~*

Sabrina felt nervous enough to pee her pants as she got ready to Apparate over to the bunker’s entrance to meet Sam. She’d already changed outfits three times, trying to find a perfect balance between casual and sophisticated. “What about this one?” she asked as she looked over to Wesley.

“It’s perfect,” he told her and she had to roll her eyes—he’d said the same thing each time.

“Not helpful,” she grumbled as she turned back to examine her latest choice of jeans and a form-fitting simple purple cotton blouse. It was too casual for the office, but it would be something she’d wear if she was out and about during the day. “Should I put on a skirt? Look a little more business?”

Wesley stepped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her before settling his chin on her shoulder. “Darling, you are perfect. Half of those you meet today will likely be in sweat pants and tees. The others in various layers of flannel.”

She knew this whole ordeal was her way of overlooking her bigger concerns. “And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Sabrina was kinda dreading the part where she ditched him. Part of her irrationally thought he might run off and leave her when he got a chance.

He glared at her through the mirror before rolling his eyes. “Sabrina Deanne, get a grip.” And then he snickered and she found herself laughing as well. She really was being stupid.

She turned around in his arms and stared up at him. “What are you going to do all day?”

“In my better moments, I believe I’ll envision your return. Or last night,” he added with a low and sultry tone to his accent that made her blush all over.

And then her nerves were replaced with something else and before she could think, they were full on making out—tongues, teeth and hands everywhere. When she felt a warm palm cup her pussy through the denim, she ground her hips down against him as she began to fumble with the clasp of his jeans.

This was one of the many new things in her world—having a guy who made her want it three times a day. She’d dated before and even had a fair share of boyfriends, but something about Wesley made her the one who was asking for it—and she kinda liked it.

“You’re gonna be late,” Wesley muttered against her mouth, even if his hands didn’t stop rubbing her body.

“Then hurry up,” she commanded as she unzipped his fly and began to reach inside the waistband of his boxers.

And then in a fury of motion she found he’d practically carried her to the kitchen table and had her lying on her back across the wood—tugging and removing her jeans and panties with a forcefulness that just turned her on more. She watched him with hooded eyes as he finished with baring her flesh and then jerked his own jeans down to his knees, his cock already hard for her.

He nuzzled her wet folds with the tip for just a few moments before pushing inside and making her come undone. Grasping the table for support, she bucked her hips to meet every thrust. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she heard a phone ringing, but she didn’t care.

All too soon and not soon enough, his thumb found her clit and the deal was done—he’d quickly figured out how to make her come with ease. And as her muscles clenched around him, she heard him call out her name as he spilled himself deep inside her body.

She laid there on the table spread-eagle and panting for several blissful seconds until her phone rang again. This time she had enough sense to give a damn. She groaned as she felt Wesley’s shaft slide out, squeezing her eyes shut to preserve the memory of how good it had felt as they’d come together.

“Hello?” Wesley said as Sabrina jerked her eyes open to see him standing there with his pants at his knees and a phone to his ear. She burst out laughing.

Wesley, for his part, gave her a narrowed look and continued is his best formal British. “I believe Sabrina is just finishing up here. I will let her know you await her arrival, Sam. Mmm hmm, good day.” He ended the call and eyed her naked flesh. “I believe you should put your pants back on before you leave.”

Scooting off the table, she giggled. “Well, at least I’m not nervous anymore.” Once they were both dressed she gave him a deep kiss and then turned to the mirror. Her face was flush, her lips were swollen and part of her felt like she should change her panties, but all in all, she was feeling pretty good. Looking back at him, she held out her wand. “Wish me luck.”

*~*~*

Dean was pretending he was as into the ghost as she was, but truth be told he’d spent the afternoon texting some girl named Julie and her boss, Rodney, at the Marriott. Sam didn’t know he’d stolen the numbers of the card the Watchers Council had given him—he was gonna shit when he saw all the charges he’d racked up. It would seem that love had a price and it was $100 bucks cash each.

He pretended he was texting Dawn about lore, but he was really giving his new buddies a shopping list. And while he was on the laptop, he was putting together his playlist for the evening. His kitty was just relieved to have a nice distraction from all the shit going on back home that she really was enjoying a little ghost hunt.

The library closed down around six and that’s when Dean’s nerves kicked into overdrive. He snagged the keys from her and got behind the wheel. Faith, for her part still, seemed blissfully unaware.

“Well, I think we narrowed it down,” she said as she looked at some photocopies of newspaper clippings. “Just to be on the safe side, I would say we burn both sets of bones because I think it’s this Maggie, but there’s a chance it’s the Sophia chick.” She looked over at him. “You pack two shovels or one? We could tag team or make it a race.”

“I’ve dug up _way _more graves, baby,” he teased.

She arched an eyebrow. “I love how you said that like it’s a bragging point, Ducky. I also love how you forget I’m stronger than you.”

“It _is_ a bragging point, Kitty. Busting ghosts is one of my finer qualities.” He started humming the _Ghostbusters _theme as they rode along.

“That one looks pretty open,” Faith said as they came up to a shithole motel like the one they’d last spent the night.

“Already got us a room,” he replied, doing his best to keep his tone casual. He felt his left leg starting to twitch.

“Really? You went and did some planning? How very unusual.” She cast him a skeptical glance. “I should have known you weren’t researching our ghost.”

He shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. “I can multitask.”

He felt her suspicion rise when they pulled into the hotel. “Dean Winchester,” she scoffed. “What are you doing?”

“I was reminded today that you deserve better than roach-infested nasty-ass dives. So we’re moving on up tonight.”

As he parked, she laid a hand on his knee. “Dean,” she said softly. “You were the one who told _me_ not to let him get in our heads. I don’t need nothing but you and a mattress. You feel me?”

He looked at her and almost chickened out on the spot. Maybe this was all just stupid. Had he let Lucifer get into his head? Then he remembered the playlist and how he’d been working on that for days. And he’d been wanting to do something romantic for a while too—he was the one who’d suggested they go on a real date. Taking a deep breath, he smiled at her. “Shut up and enjoy it, woman.”

She snickered and followed him as he grabbed their bags from the trunk and carried them to the lobby. His heart began hammering when he saw a perky blonde beaming at him from behind the counter. “Mr. Winchester?”

Faith’s eyes grew wide. “_Mr. Winchester?_”

He tossed her a look. “It’s kinda my name.”

“And I kinda can’t believe you used it,” she said back.

Julie didn’t seem to understand anything and looked up with a knowing smile. “You’re all checked in and here’s your keys. Let me know if you need anything else.” She winked at him as he took the keys and slipped the cash in her palm.

“Thanks,” he said with a nervous titter before turning toward the elevator.

“Hold the phone,” Faith said as she kept looking from him to Julie. “Did that bitch just flirt with you _in front_ of me? Because I could take her skinny ass and shove it in a shoebox.”

Damn, he did like seeing her jealous. That being said, he didn’t want to kill the chick who’d just helped him out all afternoon. “Pretty sure that was just good customer service. One of the many perks at staying at a hotel. Bet we get more than two minutes hot water too.”

As they rode the elevator and walked to the room, Faith grumbled about her thoughts on customer service as well as what _perks_ he or Julie had to look forward to if she had a mind to think that was flirting. All in all it made the moment perfect for when he unlocked the door and let her stroll past him inside.

Faith stopped about three steps in and froze. Her back was to him so he couldn’t read her face as she took in the room lit by half a dozen candles. The fruit and stuff was sitting on the table along with the bouquet of flowers. They’d even scored the rose petals and had them strewn across the bed. He shut the door and dropped the bags, shuffling slightly when she still didn’t move or say anything.

“I bought champagne,” he said hesitantly. “It’s on ice in the sink.” He waited a beat. “Then I had them throw in a bottle of Crown because I didn’t know if you even liked champagne.”

Her lack of response was making him increasingly uncomfortable. Maybe he’d gone and fucked up.

“I got the fruit because it made the whipped cream and chocolate sauce sound less kinky, but I didn’t know if you liked strawberries or not. I had ‘em grab a variety. Same with the flowers. First I thought just roses because that’s what you see on the movies, but then I remembered how Bobby always said roses reminded him of funeral homes and that got me thinking you may not like roses _that_ much. I told them yellow because that was the color of the sundress you wore that day and you were so pretty you took my breath away.” He was rambling, but he didn’t want to stop. The silence was freaking him out. “And I…I made a mixtape. Well, kinda—couldn’t put it on tape yet and I still haven’t figured out how to burn a CD, but I got it on my phone. Hoping Rose can show me how when we go home.”

“Dean.” He couldn’t read a damn thing from the way she spoke his name.

“It may be too much,” he admitted. “But really I don’t think it’s enough. I got to thinking about how we never got a real date and how you go about saving the world and everyone and when’s the last time someone’s done anything special for you? Fuck, your welcome back party was me banging you against a mausoleum—and as fun as it was, you deserved better. So if you wanna get dressed up we can go and burn this town to the ground. If you wanna lay down and check out the free HBO, I’m down too. Or if you wanna dance with me in the candlelight, I got a few songs for that.”

She hadn’t laughed at him nor had she turned around and punched him for being a cheesy dumbass. She hadn’t done a damn thing. Dean pondered if he was gonna die of a heart attack while he waited. Nervously, he retrieved his phone and pulled up the list.

As the piano and strings began he walked up behind her. As Seger started to sing, he gently touched her arm.

> _I know it's late, I know you're weary_
> 
> _I know your plans don't include me_
> 
> _Still here we are, both of us lonely_
> 
> _Longing for shelter from all that we see._

She shuddered and he didn’t know if it was in anger or something else. He gave her a little nudge to see if she’d turn around—she resisted slightly, but then shifted her body so he could finally see her face.

He stopped breathing as he saw the tears pouring down her cheeks—definitely not the reaction he was going for. He must have looked terrified because she released a watery giggle and his knees nearly buckled. Was he watching Faith shed _happy_ tears? He wasn’t even sure she did that.

Taking her hand, he pulled her against him and wrapped the arm with the phone around her. As the song played on, he danced with her in the dark.

> _Deep in my soul I've been so lonely_
> 
> _All of my hopes fading away_
> 
> _I've longed for love like everyone else does_
> 
> _I know I'll keep searching even after today_
> 
> _So there it is girl, I've said it all now_
> 
> _And here we are babe, what do you say?_
> 
> _We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?_
> 
> _We've got tonight babe_
> 
> _Why don't you stay?_

He felt her wrap her arms around him and bury her face in the crook of his neck before had sobs began to overtake her body. Then, he was crying too and he, for the life of him, didn’t know if he was happy or sad—because he didn’t have a damn clue what she was thinking.

> _We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?_
> 
> _Let's make it last, let's find a way_
> 
> _Turn out the light, come take my hand now_
> 
> _We've got tonight babe_
> 
> _Why don't you stay?_
> 
> _Why don't you stay?_

As the song finished, Faith pulled back and looked him dead in the eye and he felt his breath catch in his throat. After a beat, she reached up and grabbed his face and yanked him down to meet her lips in a kiss that was possibly the single greatest experience of his life. He drank her in as though his life depended on her touch—and in that moment it did. This was moment he’d waited his entire life for.

There wasn’t a shadow of doubt left in his mind—he loved Faith Lehane with all his heart.

They kept holding each other in the dark as the next song came on.

> _Something in the way she moves_
> 
> _Attracts me like no other lover_
> 
> _Something in the way she woos me_
> 
> _I don't want to leave her now_
> 
> _You know I believe and how_

A soft laugh escaped her lips pressed to his as she listened to the lyrics and Dean grew drunk off the sound. Tossing the phone to the bed, he wrapped his arms around her and swayed to the slow beat.

They continued to dance through The Beatles and on to Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” By the time they hit Journey, just dancing wasn’t enough. Slowly, still swaying to the music, they stripped one another and as Bon Jovi sang “Bed of Roses,” they crawled atop their own rose petals.

“I love you,” he whispered as he gently slid his cock inside her and they began to make love.

He didn’t know how long into the night they continued, but it was long after Zeppelin’s “All of My Love” had finished playing. He figured if she didn’t know after tonight how much he truly loved her, she’d never get it.

As he fell asleep holding Faith in his arms, Dean did something he hardly ever had—he prayed to God that he could somehow make her love him half as much.


	80. Chapter 80

Hell was a bloody maze.

Spike wasn’t sure why he was surprised—fuck, he wasn’t even sure _that _he was surprised. Seemed fitting enough that Hell would be filled with enough nooks and crannies, twists and turns to make any bloke doubt his sanity. And, he wagered as he moved on, that had been part of the charm where Crowley was concerned. Because the farther he traveled, the more wankerish demons he crossed and offed, the more Spike became certain that his old acquaintance had made bloody fools of the lot of them.

Crowley did have a habit of underestimating what he considered lower demons, though. While Spike didn’t know the tosser all that well, the few interactions they’d shared over the years had drilled as much into his brain. While he hadn’t always been King of Hell, Crowley had been big noise, enough to give him an unearned ego. And those demons that prowled the Earth rather than the underworld had always been beneath his notice, unless he needed a favor, of course. And vampires were at the bloody bottom of the totem pole.

But Spike was a fella who was used to other gits underestimating him. Years living in Angelus’s shadow had prepared him well for sods like Crowley. Being a demon himself gave him insight he wagered most took for granted. The first thing—no self-respecting demon offered something for nothing. Spike himself had spent the better part of a year playing at the Scoobies’ insecurities to get them to dance to his tune—that was, of course, until he realized he was head over for the Slayer. Whenever they knocked on his door asking for help, he’d been all too willing to give it…for a price. And if he showed up with a readymade solution to a problem they hadn’t yet solved, there was always a little angle in there for him.

Something he might have been able to tell the sodding Slayer if she’d shared her plan with the class. From what the Winchesters had said—that was, what Spike had retained, being in the state he’d been in—Crowley had just popped in out of the bloody blue with the answer to the Hellmouth riddle at the ready. Offered it without so much as a you-show-me-yours, and had the lot of them sold before anyone could think to look for the strings.

The answer was obvious—there was something that Buffy had that Crowley thought he could get. Or some quid pro bloody quo in getting the Slayer to toss herself willingly into the mouth of Hell. Maybe he had a deal arranged with some other big nasty; could be that Buffy had been his ticket to cozying up to the devil. Spike didn’t know—all he knew was Buffy was still alive, or undead, and he was on the right track.

Also, when he ran into Crowley next, he was going to tear the wanker’s head off his body. While the Winchesters’ pet angel hadn’t proven to be good for much, he had been a gent and thrust a few spare angel blades into Spike’s hands before he’d popped downstairs to begin his search.

The angel blades had proven quite effective. Turned out old Spike hadn’t lost his touch, after all, when it came to living up to his namesake. He’d dispatched the nosier brood of demons he encountered without much ceremony, but every now and then he encountered a chatty prat who claimed to have information a guy like Spike could take to the bloody bank. Information like the fact that Crowley had been spending a lot more time in his private office than usual, and a mouthy minion claimed to have seen a blonde bombshell chained up in there. The minion had been clever enough to pretend he hadn’t seen anything, but not clever enough to keep from blabbing to anyone who might be interested. Pity, that. Was how otherwise upstanding demons found themselves impaled on pointy objects—a lesson Spike felt duty-bound to hammer in personally.

For now, he was following his demon, tugging at the thread that kept him and Buffy connected and trusting it to reel him home. He’d shelved everything else, including his bone-rattling fury with her, because it’d be a mite difficult to save the bitch if he wanted to strangle her on sight. Once they were topside again, he’d let the rage that had infected him to explode, and they’d have it out good and proper.

If he stopped now to reflect on the fact that she’d kept something this important from him, he might not have the strength to go on. But Spike owed Buffy at least one good thrashing, and that was the sort of thing he intended to deliver.

He just had to find her first.

*~*~*

Faith was fucked.

Completely, wholly, wonderfully fucked.

She wandered over to the tub where she’d perched Dean’s phone, having just completed her latest video message. Her hands were still shaking when she picked it up and hit the _stop _button, her eyes still a bit sore from the extra workout they’d been getting recently. It was strange and exciting and wonderful and absolutely terrifying all at the same time, but last night…

Well, she didn’t know. She barely knew how to begin unpacking half of this shit. Things with Dean had been full-speed-ahead since their first night together, and tracking how they’d gone from fucking in the cemetery to him pulling romantic shit like this made her head spin. And until last night, Faith would have sworn sideways that she wasn’t the type to be won with gestures that came straight from a John Hughes movie.

But everything she kept telling herself—and Dean’s phone, if not Dean himself—was true. The difference between him and every other guy was… Well, it was about her to him. He’d gone to all this ridiculous trouble because he loved her.

And Faith was pretty sure she was about to tip over, too. She’d had that realization while talking to his camera. Like all the micro-steps she’d taken thus far, it had scared the shit out of her, but the scary remained good. There was just enough doubt left to keep her from saying the words. And it wasn’t doubt about Dean, rather herself—whether she was capable of the kind of grand gesture shit. If she had that in her. If she even knew how to love someone like this. Loving anyone had been a giant fucking step for her. She’d loved her first Watcher and he’d gotten himself killed. Then she’d loved Wilkins, the father she’d never known, and he’d preyed upon her insecurities to mold her into his own personal assassin. She’d loved, still loved, Angel, but as a friend, and because he’d been the only person in her life not to give up on her, and the fact that she hadn’t been able to save him from his own waking nightmare still hurt like a son of a bitch. Then there’d been Hunter, who she loved in a kind of distant way—not intense and not intimate, but familiar and comforting. Ro had been the last, and the girl had snuck up on her. And a lot of that Faith knew was unfair, and worried she loved her for the wrong reasons. Ro had never seen the bad in Faith, only the cooler older-sister vibe that was heady as fuck when you’d spent most of your life being the perpetual screw-up. That anyone could look up to her after the joke she’d made of life had been intoxicating, and she’d wanted to keep earning it. She’d needed that hero worship to be based on something real rather than something imagined.

None of the paths had been easy, and every relationship she had seemed conditional. Well, except Angel. She imagined they’d still be tight if he had his soul, but a line had been drawn between them at some point that she’d never wanted to cross. There had been that stint in SunnyD when she’d tried to take him out for a spin but everything after that—especially with the way shit had gone down in LA—had established the boundaries of their relationship firmly as mutual survivors who could rely on each other when the going got tough. In truth, Faith didn’t know if she’d actually been attracted to Angel at any point, or if she’d thought she had because he’d been one of B’s toys.

Dean was the first person since Angel to know all the parts of her. She didn’t hold back with him, didn’t try to pretend she was something else, didn’t feel the need to remain on her guard. If shit was bad, she could lose it. She could be weak, and for a strong person, the ability and luxury of being weak was invaluable. But it was more than that, too. She and Angel had clicked on one specific level—the pain and recovery level, but hadn’t had much in common beyond that. She and Dean clicked on every fucking level, from their warped senses of humor to their views of themselves to movies and loyalty to those they loved. He made her look forward to each fucking day, even the terrible ones, because facing them was easier with him. And the way she felt about him was different than the way she felt about any of the people in her life she knew unequivocally that she loved—different, more intense, more _everything._

Hell, put like that, it seemed open and shut, but Faith couldn’t get there just yet. The thing that scared her more than anything, including the devil right now, was the thought that she could do something to hurt her ducky. It seemed inevitable with her, because Faith was good at nothing but fucking shit up. Dean deserved love more than anyone she’d ever met. All the stuff he’d said last night, what he thought she deserved, applied to him a hundred times over. No one took care of him. Everyone assumed he could take care of himself. And while that was certainly true on a basic level, no one could continue marching on at full-speed without support. And that was what he’d been doing for years, pushing on, holding himself up, holding Sammy up, holding the fucking world up and thinking if he flinched that’d be the game and it’d be his fault.

Loving Dean meant being that person for him, and Faith was terrified of failing.

But there was something else—something deeper and more personal. If she loved Dean, if she told him she did, then he’d have power over her that no one had ever had before. Loving Ro had gotten her killed, but loving Dean would… Well, not get her killed necessarily, but open her up to the kind of pain that would make her long for death. And that was something she’d never experienced. The thought that she could, that she might already be there…

Yeah. Scary fucking shit.

Faith gave herself a cursory glance in the mirror, wiped her fingers under her eyes to eradicate any sign that she’d been having a girl moment. She straightened Dean’s flannel shirt over her shoulders—naked vids sounded like fun, but when the day came he actually saw them, she wanted him to be focusing on her words and not her tits—then stepped back into the hotel room.

Dean had been snuggling hard with a pillow when she’d disappeared inside. Now he was lounging on the bed, his back against the headboard, and giving her a look that was half-exasperation, half-amusement, and entirely adoring.

“You really take my phone in with you when you take a shit?”

Faith snorted and rolled her eyes, tossing the phone onto the dresser. “I had a song in my head and I wanted to play it without waking you up, since I know what a grumpy ass you can be in the mornin’. Did I mention the playlist is fucking lit?”

The hard edges around his face began to soften, giving way to the shy little boy he kept buried inside. “Yeah?” he asked, a bit hoarse.

“Oh yeah,” she said, not adding that she wasn’t sure she’d mean it had it been anyone else. Faith was not a sappy love song kinda girl and never had been, but knowing that he’d made it for her made her love every fucking track. “Acceptable phone use?”

This time he nodded. “Yeah. But maybe we oughta get you your own phone, Kitty. Tired of looking for mine in your pants.”

“No, you’re not.”

Dean smirked and waggled his brows. “All right, so I’ll still search your pockets. Don’t make me wrong, though. Need a way to reach you when we’re not playing newlyweds on a case.”

Faith considered this. She’d used Spike’s phone for a bit when she’d gotten back, on that first trip out of town when she and Dean had managed to find themselves hunting the same dhamp. Since they’d come to their arrangement over that time period, they hadn’t had much occasion to be apart, so she’d returned the phone to its rightful owner. Not that Spike used it much, or at all. Anyone who wanted to reach him knew to call Buffy.

“I’ll take B’s when we get back,” she said. “Keep the battery juiced until she’s ready to use it again. But…” She grinned. “That don’t mean I’m gonna stop stealing yours, Ducky. Kinda hopin’ one of these days you’ll spank me.”

“I _have_ spanked you.”

“Not for this. Pretty sure that was a ‘you didn’t tell me your super slayer plan’ spanking.”

“You say that like I’ll run outta reasons.” Dean raked his gaze down the length of her. “Anythin’ of mine you don’t like stealing?”

She grinned and climbed up on the bed to prowl over him like a jungle cat. And by the way his eyes darkened with heat, she figured she had him nice and distracted from the phone. Even more so when she dipped her head to drop kisses from his happy trail up over his abdomen, then his chest and neck until their mouths were fused together.

She’d reflected before that no one had ever kissed her the way Dean Winchester did, and would have laughed at the notion that the kissing could get better. But damn, they had. There was more than just _want _in his kisses now, and that _more _made her heart sing.

“Anything of yours you really care that I steal?” she asked against his lips, rotating her hips so the folds of her sex dragged across his swelling cock.

“Fuck no.” He slid his hands under the hem of his shirt to grip her thighs. Then paused. “’Cept Baby. Baby can drive Baby but Baby can’t have Baby, you feel me?”

She reached between them and took his length in her hand. “You wanna feel me?”

“I am so completely serious.”

“So am I.” She slid onto him with a low-throated mewl, digging her fingers into his shoulders and rolling back her head. “Shit, Dean…”

He exhaled slowly, then raised trembling hands to the front of the shirt to undo the buttons. “Love the way you say my name when I’m inside you.”

“Dean or Ducky?”

“Yes.” He managed to undo the final button and opened the shirt like she was a present, staring for a moment at the flesh he’d exposed with an almost pained expression. “Fuck, you’re a pretty kitty,” he murmured before sucking one of her nipples between his lips. He pulled and licked for a second, then grinned up at her when she released a shaky breath. She responded by squeezing him inside her and wiping that expression right the fuck off.

Faith rotated her hips and began to ride him in earnest. God, she wasn’t sure if every time with him was better than the last or if it just hitting the same awesome peak and she just wasn’t used to it yet, but it had never been like this. That night a few days—was that all it had been?—when he’d managed to get her to confess that she considered him her best lay seemed almost laughable now, because while yes, he hit all the right buttons in all the right way, she didn’t think it was possible for sex to be better with anyone else for reasons that had very little to do with sex and everything to do with the way Dean looked at her when she bounced on his dick. Or sucked his dick. Or let him in the backdoor. Yeah, there was raw hunger that never failed to get her motor running, but it was underscored with something she’d never seen or experienced before. The way he’d looked at her last night, moving inside her to the tune of the music he’d chosen while thinking about her, telling her he loved her with his hands and mouth and cock and words over and over again… It couldn’t be better with anyone else because Dean was the guy who loved her, and he wasn’t content to just tell her—he wanted her to feel just how much he meant it.

And fuck, did she ever feel it.

This seemed too good for a girl who had grown up on the wrong side of Boston. A girl who had once conspired with a maniac to end the world, who had put people in the ground, tortured a guy who didn’t deserve it just because she’d been too much of a chicken-shit to take her own life. And yeah, there was a load of bad right now, and yeah, that would be true forever, all the bad didn’t feel as bad as it would if she were alone, and the moments that weren’t bad weren’t just good, they were incredible.

“Faith…” Dean’s breaths started coming faster, and she saw he was about to snap. “Fuck…” He slipped a hand between them, positioning his knuckle so it struck her clit every time she sank home. “Never get enough of this.”

“Me either,” she said, picking up her pace. “Not of this. Not of you.”

His eyes went wide and his breath caught. “Fuck.”

“Dean…” Tears pricked her eyes again—tears she didn’t understand, so she closed her eyes and focused on how he felt, on the things she knew for certain and not the things she wasn’t ready to face. “Shit.”

He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her close, kissed her, then skated his lips across her cheek until they were at her ear. “Need to hear it now, baby?”

She nodded before she could catch up with herself. As self-conscious as the words made her when he said them any other time, when he was inside of her, they were the thing that got her over the edge. Every fucking time.

“I love you.”

And that was it. She tightened and trembled around him, a strangled cry scratching at her throat for freedom. She heard him moan in turn, felt the way he hardened inside of her before he spilled. As often as they had sex, she’d started to worry that she might make him sore by squeezing too tight, but never thought to bring it up until moments like these, and then she just did what felt natural. And from the way he panted and whispered her name, Dean wasn’t going to complain. Not right now, at least.

She kept her arms around him as her body calmed, enjoying the slick feel of his flesh, the damp sensation of his hair against her face, the way he trembled and relaxed.

“Good morning,” he murmured after a moment, grinning.

“Hey yourself.” She kissed him again before she could help herself. “How’d you sleep?”

Dean chuckled, running his hands up her sides. “Hard.”

Faith arched an eyebrow and wiggled her hips. “Already?”

“Baby, you’re gonna kill me.”

“Nah. I like my ducky squeaking.” She dropped another kiss on his lips, then slid off his lap, trying and failing to keep from letting out a little whimper when he slipped out of her. “What time do we gotta be outta here?”

“Checkout’s at eleven, I think.”

Faith glanced at the clock, then frowned, dropped her head on his shoulder, and curled herself into a ball beside him. The fabric of the flannel shirt slid over her skin, one of the open flaps tickling a nipple. She glanced down and began rebuttoning it on instinct.

“You went all sad on me.” Dean caught her chin and tilted her head up. “What gives?”

“You ever have those days where you wanna just stay in bed?”

“I think they’re called weekdays.” He chuckled, dropped his hand to her knee and squeezed. “Are you abandonin’ the hunt? You’d make a lousy Ghostbuster.”

“Hunt’s over, Ducky. Just got the bones to take care of, and I ain’t gonna dig up a grave in broad daylight. Don’t care how much faster than you I can shovel.” Faith hiked a thumb at herself. “Kitty’s technically still supposed to be servin’ twenty-five to life.”

“Like you’re the only one in this room with a record,” Dean retorted cheekily. “So you sayin’ you wanna lazy day?”

“I’m sayin’ I got you, this kick-ass bed, and a basket full of fruit to work through. Would be nice not to have to budge for a bit.” She was about as relaxed as she figured she’d ever been, except the thought of leaving, going back to the world where waited the devil and family drama made her stomach twist. “But the world ain’t gonna save itself, is it?” she asked, plucking at one of the buttons on his shirt. “So, wanna hit an internet café? You know how much I suck at research, but if you point me in the right direction, I can start lookin’ up shit on how to trap the devil.”

Dean studied her for a moment, then turned and reached for the phone on the nightstand. He pressed a number, then waited. “Yeah, this is room three-seventeen.” A pause. “Yeah, hey Julie. Thank you, yeah, everything was great. Tell the Rodster he picked a helluva champagne.”

“The Rodster?” Faith repeated.

Dean met her gaze over his shoulder. “Well, that’s the thing. What’d the cost be to push back check-out till, say, six?”

“Dean!” She slapped his arm and scrambled out of bed, though to what end, she didn’t know. “That is not—”

“Great. Do it.” He grinned and winked at her. “Thanks, Jules. You’re a peach.” Then, looking supremely pleased with himself, he hung up and sat back. “Sit your ass back down. We’re going nowhere till tonight.”

“All it cost is more flirting,” Faith replied dryly, tentatively climbing back onto the mattress.

“Saying thank you is now flirting?”

“Shut up.”

“You are just too fuckin’ cute when you’re jealous.”

“Not nearly as cute as you think you are.”

Dean batted his eyelashes, hooked an arm around her waist and dragged over until she was straddling him again. “You know I’m adorable,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “And that’s not the way to say thank you to the guy who just ordered you one lazy day.”

Faith snickered and pinched one of his nipples. “What is the way to say thank you?”

“I dunno. You might have to get creative with your mouth.” Dean wiggled his hips a bit and laced his fingers behind his head. “No rush at all. I got time.”

*~*~*

“Wow.”

Sabrina was many things, including—when the occasion called for it—verbally eloquent. No one would know it from today, though. Because _wow _seemed to be stuck on repeat. But really, she couldn’t help herself. There wasn’t much else to say after touring the Men of Letters bunker, especially since the stranger who happened to also be her brother had insisted that it was her home as well.

All of this would take more than just a little getting used to. Sabrina hadn’t seen or spoken with her mother in months, maybe close to a year. They’d never had a close mother-daughter bond. Growing up had been all about duty and service, and staying as far from NoMajes as possible. If Nora Deanne could see her now, surrounded by NoMajes who not only knew about MACUSA but her role in it… Well, the most talented healers in the world couldn’t resurrect her.

The concept of _family _was clearly very different on the Winchester side. Sam had greeted her with a bear hug before ushering her into the modern day palace that was apparently her birthright. Thankfully, Dawn had been there to help mitigate any potential awkwardness. She’d met Nick Hunter and Rosalie Wright, the current active Slayer. There was Giles, of course, who regarded her with a sort of cool detachment that reminded her that their previous interactions had been a bit frosty.

However, something unexpected happened a few minutes into her visit. Giles pulled her aside, a bit befuddled.

“Ms. Deanne,” he said in a tone considerably warmer than the one she’d heard him use before, “I believe an apology is in order. Your…suggestion that we kill Willow Rosenberg as a means of preventing catastrophe… You must understand, I’ve known Willow since she was sixteen years old. The girl is like a daughter to me.”

“Mr. Giles, you don’t—”

“No, I do.” He dropped his glasses into a waiting handkerchief. “It can be difficult to see the whole picture when people you love are involved. But I do believe, had you received more support… I don’t want to think of Willow dead, but she is in league with Lucifer and the reason Buffy Summers is currently in Hell. So…please accept my apology for anything untoward I might have said in our previous meetings.”

Sabrina didn’t even realize she was tense until the words had her shoulders relaxing. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I… I don’t wish harm on anyone. I just want the world to not, you know, get destroyed.”

A slight smile tugged at Giles’s lips. “Quite.”

The rest of her tour was rather uneventful. She reacquainted herself with Zack Morris, who seemed much more haggard than he had the last time they’d been in the same room, though she figured this was due to the fact that his sire had followed Buffy into Hell and those bonds were especially strong. Indeed, he and his wife seemed perfectly happy to keep to their room.

“There was an incident with Kelly, Dawn, and Rose,” Sam whispered. “Kelly didn’t take Buffy’s jump well and, while she’s gotten herself under control, we think she’s still worried that she might lose it again.”

“She’s worried that I hate her,” Dawn said. “That Rose hates her, too. I don’t,” she said off Sabrina’s look. “And neither does Rose. Honestly, she attacked the two people here who understand vampires the best and are not likely to hold a grudge when it comes to nature overpowering nurture. Three if you include Faith.”

“She attacked Faith as well?”

“Actually, she started out by attacking Faith,” Dawn said. “Kelly’s never forgiven Faith for fucking her husband.”

Sabrina stopped short and looked to Sam with wide eyes. “Faith and…Zack?”

“He was soulless at the time, I’m told,” Sam said with a shrug. “And…she was hunting him.”

“Hunting him by falling on his dick.”

Dawn sputtered a laugh, then another at the bewildered look on Sam’s face. “Oh, I’m gonna like you,” she said, bringing up her hand. “Put it there, sis.”

Sabrina hesitated for half a second before giving her the high five, grinning a bit in spite of herself.

“Faith is…_was _a bit of a whore,” Dawn continued nonchalantly. “In fact, I’m pretty sure the only guy in residence she hasn’t done is Giles.”

“And me!” Sam said.

“Oh, well, duh. I wouldn’t do Faith’s sloppy seconds.”

Sam went a bit red in the cheeks.

Sabrina frowned. This aspect of Faith’s personality had been rather glossed over by Wes. The most she’d known was that prior to her tryst with Wes, Faith had been in a casual relationship with Nick Hunter. “Does Dean know?”

“Oh yeah. Believe me, we’ve had this conversation seventeen or eighteen times,” Dawn said, waving a hand. “And I said she _was _a bit of a whore. I think she’s mellowed. She and I will never be bestest of best friends, but…” The girl drew her lower lip between her teeth and exchanged a look with Sam, her eyes filling with tears. “Sorry,” she said a moment later, waving her face. “Faith _is _trying to find my sister and she got in contact with a demon to do it, so the hatchet is buried. And she actually does seem to really…like your brother.”

Well, Sabrina supposed that was something, at least. It was awkward enough that Faith was a sore subject with her current boyfriend—adding in her new brother, and… Well, it was a bit hard not to resent the bitch. But Sabrina figured that would endear her to no one.

“Come on,” Dawn said, tugging on Sam’s hand. “Let’s show her the weapon’s room.”

*~*~*

Faith was still snickering as he unlocked the trunk to discard their soiled shovels. She’d gotten as far as she could without water in her attempts to tend to the mud stain Dean had made on her yoga pants. “You’re really bad at this boyfriend thing,” she said before discovering another streak of dirt along the side of the flannel shirt she still wore. “And hard on your own clothes.”

“I think you’ll find I rock this boyfriend thing,” Dean replied as he slammed the trunk with a wink. “Pretty sure I scored all kinds of points today.”

Yeah, he really had. They’d had the perfect lazy whatever-day-of-the-week it was, lounging in bed, eating leftover fruit, ordering monster-sized pizzas, and pretty much guaranteeing that the room would forever be where blacklights went to die. They’d also agreed to start heading back to Lebanon after digging up the graves of both Maggie and Sophia and torching both sets of bones. As it turned out, Dean did have two shovels in the trunk and Faith had set out to quickly prove that when it came to digging up dead people, she was the undisputed champion.

Dean had responded to her victory dance by tossing a shovel-full of dirt at her head. Which had resulted in possibly the most immature thing she’d ever done in a cemetery, and that was saying something. They’d taken turns pelting each other with dirt before he’d shoved her up against a tombstone with some cheesy pun about how she was a dirty girl and he aimed to make her filthy.

He had, too. Absolutely filthy. Afterward, she’d somewhat limped back to the open grave to finish the job, only the mess of dirt they’d made had inspired a laughing fit that she hadn’t been able to temper. It was beyond wrong, she knew, but the wrongness of the situation had made it damn near impossible to stop laughing. And soon Dean had been laughing with her, which only made her laugh harder. Especially when she’d considered how they would look to anyone who happened by—two people who looked like they’d been mud wrestling, setting corpses on fire and laughing maniacally as they did so.

“Gotta tell you, Ducky, I’ve spent a lot of time in cemeteries, but you always make it interesting,” Faith said as she slid into the passenger seat.

“I am to please,” Dean replied with a wink.


	81. Chapter 81

“Why hasn’t he called me?”

Dear Dad, she was annoying. Why did he have some knack for finding obnoxious redheaded witches to use? It was a curse. Gingers always bothered him. And killing her was off the table—for all he knew she had a backup plan like Crowley’s mom or even a Horcrux like that cool guy who’d lost to Harry Potter.

That was why he’d set the trap. Well, why he’d made her set the trap and then give him the only key. Once she proved more trouble than she was worth, he’d pop her in and lock the door forever. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

“Wait a minute,” Willow said as she examined her phone. Lucifer gave her a passing glance as he sat across the room and tried to concentrate.

Faith was presenting to be a challenge. While he enjoyed the cat and mouse thing they had going on, he really wanted to speed things up—at least now that his new plan was fleshed out. Daddy’s pet slayer was the perfect baby momma—there was even a slight chance she could survive giving birth to a Nephilim. He kinda doubted it, but that would just make Dad’s little intervention more ironic.

He’d underestimated her, much to his chagrin. Lucifer had figured it’d be easy to hook up with her—she was practically the definition of a whore—but she’d grown wiser and softer than he’d predicted. Trouble was he didn’t know how much was her and how much was hanging out with the stupid Winchester boys.

It would be a process of elimination. First things first was getting her away from lame-ass Dean. He would have thought Sammy more her type, but he did get boring with a soul. The simplest solution would be to kill the little roach, but Dad always found a way to bring him back—plus that wasn’t likely to speed up Operation Baby much. No, he’d have to go old school—lies, and deception. Man, made him miss the Garden days.

“Hey!” Willow snapped. “My SIM card is gone.”

“Okay,” Lucifer said absently as he contemplated his best move. If he couldn’t get Faith to sleep with him, maybe he could convince Dean he had.

“Did you _steal_ my SIM card?” Willow asked.

He frowned and looked at her. “I’m an angel, sweetheart. What do I know about phones and cards?” He’d totally stolen it, but he wasn’t gonna _confess_.

A flash of doubt crossed her eyes. “Well, how else do you explain it?”

“Fell out? Don’t know. Don’t care.” He didn’t know if he could convince Dean he’d finally ridden the Faith coaster. Odds were better if it was someone else. He’d have to figure out which of her boy toys were still in town. “Who all has Faith slept with?”

“What?” Willow stared back in confusion.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Faith. Slayer. Notorious slut. Who of your merry band of friends has she screwed?”

Willow released an exasperated sigh. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Just start naming names before you annoy me more, ’kay?”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Well, Xander back in the day. And Zack Wright. Actually, Zack Morris, but it was when he was soulless and she was hunting him. Then, her and Rosalie’s Watcher hooked up a lot—kinda a friends with benefits thing. Oh, she started boinking Wes right before she died.” She paused a beat. “And I think it’s safe to assume she and Dean Winchester are a thing—they’ve been together every time we’ve crossed Faith since this all began. No way they’re just _hanging out_.”

“Right,” Lucifer said slowly as he began to concentrate on the list. He was gonna have to do some sneaking around to see which one was the easiest target. Shouldn’t be all that hard.

As he stood up to leave, Willow made to block the door. “Hold on. We gotta figure this phone thing out.”

His patience had worn out. Flicking his wrist, he flew her across the room and into the wall—tilting his head in bemusement as her unconscious body crumpled to the ground. “Not my problem. Why don’t you sleep on it and figure it out.”

He might need that trap sooner than he’d thought.

*~*~*

“That doesn’t sound like Willow at all,” Giles scoffed as he stared into the webcam.

“Yeah, as President of Team Willow, I gotta agree with G-Man on this,” Xander declared.

“I think we’re all unanimous on that point,” Harry said dryly.

“I’ve tried all day to reach her,” Sam Seaborn lamented. While Sabrina couldn’t see the screen, she could hear the pain in his voice.

“Did you try calling from another number?” Xander asked. “Like maybe she’s avoiding you now or he blocked your number.”

There was a moment of silence. “Sam?” Zack Morris asked.

“Hold on,” Sam grunted. “I’m resisting the urge not to yell. My son’s asleep.” A deep breath. “_Yes_, you dumbass!” he hissed.

Much to Sabrina’s surprise, Giles snickered loudly. “There’s a possibility I may start to like you, Governor,” he replied.

“Not _that_ dumb a question,” Xander muttered.

“We’ve all tried contacting her as well as tracing her phone,” Hermione explained. “We’ve tried different location spells, but wherever she is has been warded well.”

“And you sent away our best shot,” the witch Sabrina had been introduced to as Rowena Macleod huffed as she looked to her brother.

Sam shrugged and gave a sheepish shrug. “Finding Buffy and Spike is still the higher priority.”

“Really?” The Governor was awfully close to shouting now.

“Yes,” Sam said irritably. “_Really_. Buffy and Spike are in _Hell_ whereas Willow isn’t in imminent danger as long as Lucifer thinks she’s an asset. So yeah, I made a call and I’m okay with it.” He looked around to see if anyone dared challenge him.

Sabrina’s affection toward him grew tenfold. It took guts to make calls like that as she’d recently learned from experience. And while it was easier to follow, sometimes you had to step up and lead. She gave him a small smile when their eyes met. He returned the gesture with a slight blush.

“So does anyone have a usable plan at this point?” Zack Wright said from the phone sitting next to the computer. “Because what I’m hearing is a whole lot of jack shit.”

Sabrina took a breath and spoke. “Well, we are having to operate under the assumption that Willow is with Lucifer and Lucifer is currently interested in Faith.” She gave herself a mental high-five for saying the woman’s name without cringing. “While they both have abilities to Apparate or teleport, we can guess they aren’t all that far away.”

Her brother nodded though he looked concerned. “You think they’re _real_ close?”

“I would guess it would depend on Faith’s whereabouts.” There may have been a slight edge to her tone that time—no congratulations earned.

Dawn smacked Sam’s shoulder. “Where are they?”

“Here…I mean in Kansas,” he said. “Something about a ghost a few hours south of here.” He looked first to Sabrina and then over to Giles. “So should we call them? Tell them to come home or wait until Cass is back with Buffy and Spike?”

“I gotta bag packed and loaded,” Wright declared. “Should I come? Kinda sounds like I should come. Yeah, I think I better come.”

“Keep your pants on, Dad,” Rosalie called out as she stood behind Sam, resting her elbows on the man’s shoulders in the manner of an affectionate little sister—something that sorta made Sabrina jealous. Growing up an only child had made her yearn for that kind of relationship with someone—not sexual, but _familial_.

“Yeah, Zack,” Sam added. “Let’s hold off until we have a plan.”

“Willow didn’t show up the last couple of times we’ve seen Lucifer,” Nick said slowly. “Did Dean mention her in his last encounter?”

“No,” Sam said dejectedly.

“So,” Nick said with a sigh, “there’s no guarantee we can even _get_ to Willow.”

“The little cutie is right,” Rowena stayed with a little wink in the guy’s direction. He turned red with embarrassment as Rosalie stood up straight and flexed her muscles, her cheeks flush with anger. Rowena flashed Rosalie a patronizing smile before continuing. “A witch of her power can cast her magic remotely. Why would she possibly make herself vulnerable?”

“Love,” Zack Morris said in a low hoarse timber that grabbed everyone’s attention. “What else makes any of vulnerable?”

“In that case, Willow would have stopped before Buffy,” Giles argued softly. “While not as much these last few years, their bond was as close as sisters.”

“He’s right,” Dawn said. “And I’m not even jealous because Willow was my sister too.” Her voice cracked as tears filled her eyes. “Before…”

Nobody could pretend not to understand. Sabrina looked to the vampire for a response, the governor spoke first. “She’s been lied to, remember? She thought she was _closing_ the Hellmouth. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt Buffy or anyone.”

“Except alter everyone’s memories to hide the fact she nearly ended the world.”

“_Rowena!_” Sam roared. “Zip it!”

“Just saying…” She huffed, crossing her arms with a pout.

“Okay,” Sam said, gesturing emphatically at the governor. “So, she _didn’t _know. Fine. What now?”

“Enter me,” Xander said with a small wave. “I got to her before. Get me face-to-face and it’s a done deal guys.”

“Which comes back to _how_,” Sabrina snapped, immediately regretting opening her trap. She winced and continued. “I just mean that she hasn’t reached out to you and she’s been here for days.”

“Not him,” Zack said. “I’m talking _love_.”

“Are you?” Sam looked shocked. “Are you suggesting…” He waved at the webcam.

“Me,” Sam Seaborn finished. “You think I should come to Kansas.”

“Right,” Rosalie scoffed. “The governor of California is just supposed to drop everything and take a vacation in Kansas? I didn’t even finish Lib and Law and I know that’s insane.”

“It would send up red flags to MACUSA,” Sabrina pointed out. “They’ve been monitoring the governor ever since he and Willow were found to have a child.”

“I didn’t mean _him_,” Zack said gruffly.

The room quieted a moment. “Yeah,” Wright said at last. “I’m coming.”

“What?” Rosalie questioned.

“Morris, you’re out of your goddamn mind if you’re saying what I think you’re sayin’.” Wright didn’t give his brother time to respond. “I know you’re in a dark place right now and I get that Spike and Buffy in Hell right now is hurting you deeper than we can all comprehend, but what the actual _fuck_? We don’t go around using kids for _bait_ or _payment_ anything else—we ain’t Derek. Or Wes.”

That last quip about had Sabrina reaching for her wand. Considering Wright was halfway across the country, she settled for a loud grunt of disagreement—glaring at any eyes that dared judge her.

“Knowing it’s right doesn’t mean you have to like it,” Zack retorted. “Tell me a better idea.”

“Anything, but _this_,” Wright growled. “I mean it—I’m coming. You apparently need some sense kicked into your ass and everyone there’s too afraid of you to do it.”

“Let’s just settle this now,” Seaborn called out. “There is no scenario, including the end of the world, where I am sending Oz to _Kansas_. I trust _none _of you with my son and I don’t care who’s offended.”

Hermione stepped closer to the mic. “What _if_ we managed to have you in Kansas with Oz—who should remain completely protected twenty-four hours a day—but appear to still be running the government In California?”

“Time-Turner?” Sabrina asked giddily.

“Polyjuice,” Hermione replied to Sabrina’s bitter disappointment. She knew that witch had to have one hidden somewhere.

“If I’m _me_, then who plays me? It can’t be you, Hermione.”

“Joshua Lyman,” she responded. “He’s currently unemployed and has the competence to govern in your absence.”

“Competency? I didn’t even tell him about this meeting because he was too busy trolling comments on the NRA’s Facebook page. You want me to turn my state over to him? I’ll be at war with Arizona by the time I get back.”

“It _is_ a feasible plan,” Harry said. “If a witch or wizard is with Oz every hour of the day to guarantee he remains protected.”

“Did any of you dumb fucks hear me?” Wright growled. “No kids. I’ve watched too many of the ones I care about be used or hurt in these things.”

“As long as Lucifer is warded back, Willow can come in and he stays out,” Sam said slowly. “That would mean if Willow comes to see Oz, we should be able to get a chance to talk to her alone.”

“Goddamn, Winchester!” Wright bellowed. “Didn’t you learn anything from John? Your dad used you for bait, didn’t he? Let’s talk about how good that works out.”

“Shut it,” Sam warned. “Sure you did the same tricks with Rose, too.”

“Not fucking _once_,” Wright spat. “I’d hunt for three weeks cold before I’d do that. And don’t think I didn’t tell your old man what I thought either. Why you think we didn’t run around all that much? Me and Bobby Singer beat his ass bloody one night he got you ripped up by some wraith. Remember the wraith who liked kiddie brains? Yeah, he managed trick Dean into thinking you were _helping _on that one. Boy, got some real shit when he spoke up against him—granted, Dean had been the one _raising _you after all. See if he remembers the black eye he got—because I bet my ass he’d tell you why we don’t use kids as _bait_.”

Damn. Sabrina’s head was spinning. Not only had she been given a candid glance into her father’s character—and it was unsettling to think he had approached things as systematically as she had not long ago—but now she was conflicted on whether the plan was a good idea.

“If Oz is protected twenty-four/seven,” the governor spoke, “and we are _sure _that we can keep Lucifer out, then I would be willing to do it. If only for the fact that every second Willow is with the devil she’s in danger. I can’t live with myself knowing I could help save her.”

“Then I believe the plan is settled,” Harry said stoically.

“I agree with Zackary _Wright_,” Giles attested.

“I don’t _like_ it,” Sam said to the man. “But we’re seriously short on options.”

“We’ll get things arranged and head there shortly,” Hermione stated before the feed disconnected.

“Dammit,” Wright grumbled and hung up the call.

The Kansas team kinda just looked around awkwardly at one another as it was realized they really had nothing left to do for a time. Sabrina was just about to announce her intended leave for her tent when a loud creak sounded above them, signaling the arrival of someone at the main entrance. She looked around at everyone see if this was a good or a bad thing.

“_People of the world today_,” a woman rapped in beat. “_Are we looking for a better way of life_?”

“_We are a part of the rhythm nation_,” a man crooned in response.

“No,” Sam said slowly. “Just…no.”

“_People of the world unite—strength in numbers we can get it right. One time_.” Sabrina saw a bouncing wave of brunette hair dancing toward the stairs.

“_We are a part of the rhythm nation_,” sang who Sabrina was beginning to suspect was her brother.

The voices grew louder as they descended the staircase. “_Sing it for the people_,” Dean carried on. “_Sing it for the children. Sing it for the babies. Sing for the_—” He cut off abruptly as he made it down to the room. “Fucking bunker,” he mumbled in embarrassment, giving Faith a funny face.

She snickered before eying the room. “Honey, we’re home.”

“Janet Jackson?” Sam said with a bemused look. “Really, Dean?”

“Don’t ask,” Dean warned with a smirk. “She also sings ‘Nasty.’ Take it all the way to the gutter, dude.”

“Of course.” Sam chuckled lightly.

Dean found Sabrina in the crowd and gave her a shy smile. “Hey,” he said in such a boyish fashion that she lost her ability to speak. The man before her now was nothing like the cold, dark person she’d seen in Rosa Lee’s—the softness to all his hard edges had him looking years younger and much more brother material.

“Hi,” she said with an awkward wave she immediately regretted.

“About before—I was a total dick and I apologize. I should’ve been way cooler about everything. I was just worked up from Lucifer—”

“And the dance floor,” Rosalie teased.

He blushed at that and cleared his throat and then and there Sabrina decided she liked her eldest brother. “And _that_,” he said, giving a pointed look at the young slayer before turning back to Sabrina. “But it still doesn’t make up for being an asshat. So hopefully we can fix things before you pick Sam as your favorite and I get stuck having two geeky siblings.”

Sabrina laughed. “I’d really like that.”

“Excuse me,” Sam cut in. “I’m being called _geeky_ by the guy belting out Janet Jackson by _memory_?”

“We listened to it in the car,” Dean huffed. He gestured at Sam. “See, Brina, neither one of us wants to be _that _guy.”

“At least my first time meeting her I wasn’t a dick,” Sam snapped.

Sabrina liked watching the show. Unfortunately, Faith broke in to referee. “We get it, boys. You’re both badass buff big brothers. Don’t start flinging shit at each other.”

“But I’m the badassiest buffest one, right?” Dean said to Faith with a playful brow waggle.

“She’s not the judge,” Sam countered.

“Forget them both,” Dawn teased. “Just join the Summers sisters—we’re less crazy anyway.”

“Debatable,” Dean scoffed.

“He makes a point,” Sam admitted. “You two are…well, you and Buffy. Need I say more?”

“How rude,” Dawn said with a smile. “But it got you two to stop fighting, so ha.”

“Whatever,” Dean clapped back. “So what’s the latest? We got ourselves a plan to fix this shit or what?”

Sabrina hoped that Wes wasn’t too lonely without her. It looked like she was going to have a long night.

*~*~*

He and Fay seriously had the best relationship, at least in Dean’s biased opinion. They weren’t the kind of people who had to hold hands or start making out to advertise their status—a brief look when nobody was watching or a high-five when a joke or innuendo was particularly good was more than enough. They both liked to save the real stuff for private.

Not sex—they’d literally announced they were off to shower and get dirty when they finally broke off from the group for the night. Truth was, Dean was officially fucked out and he kinda thought Faith was too. It had been a _very_ nice day of sex, food, naps and more sex. Hell, they’d even had a quickie in the cemetery after burning the bones and getting into a dirt fight. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had more fun than just being around his kitty. He could get used to this whole relationship life.

Shower time wasn’t as kinky as they’d led everyone to believe. For once, they both just seemed content sharing each other’s space. A little kiss or a pinch on the ass, but both their fires had been put under control—at least for the moment.

When she’d popped off to kitchen to look for a snack, Dean went to their room and flopped on the bed. He’d planned to wait for her and get his cuddle on, but within a couple quiet minutes he was dead as a corpse.

His dreams were always a tangled net full of good and bad moments from his past—mostly bad. Usually they started out with a pleasant memory of someone he’d lost followed by reliving their death or the moment he’d learned of their demise. Sometimes it was Hell and the torture he’d endured and inflicted and sometimes it was that year in Purgatory and all the mixed emotions. Good nights were when he fell back on something like his mom giving him tomato rice soup and pie as a little boy or Bobby teaching him how to hit a baseball. Horny nights had him reliving some of his more exciting hookups.

That probably explained why the past couple of weeks had him dreaming of Faith on repeat—first that night they’d first fucked in the graveyard and then with other added encounters as they kept going along. Now he had a full night’s worth of entertainment to ease him for a full night of sleep.

That had been the last couple nights now—recounting every time he’d confessed his love to her and the way she never stopped blowing his mind when she gasped his name and came. Like she was literally getting off on his love. It was heady as fuck and he absolutely loved it.

Over and over he replayed her vulnerable moments. When she’d begged him to say he loved her or to touch her body or when she dropped her walls and let herself cry when they were alone together. He even recounted the first time she’d farted in the car on the way back from the d-vamp and how cute she’d gotten when she’d tried to pass it off as no big deal. They’d ended up in a contest that had nearly resulted in him shitting his pants—but it really didn’t matter because it was sweet in its own weird way.

Then it turned into the vulnerable moments he didn’t want to relive—the terror in her eyes when she’d popped up naked in his backseat before busting out a window and running off. Then he remembered how he’d pulled a gun on her when they’d found her because they hadn’t known if she was real. She’d been scared and confused and he’d pulled a gun on her—what a shitty way to be welcomed back to Earth.

Then the gun in his hand transported him back to his worst memory of Faith, as well as his first. From the time the bracelet had taken her to the time it had brought her back, he had relived her death every night. Every night he heard and watched her beg and plead to kill her as the bright light tore through her and every night he’d choked—never in his dreams had he pulled the trigger. Every night he woke up in a panic as he had feared he’d made a mistake. He suspected he might have gone the rest of his life fearing that his hesitation had cost Faith undue suffering.

He hated reliving the moment even more than ever now that he knew her and _loved _her. Hearing her scream out as he reached for the gun than had been knocked from his hand before he could pull the trigger had his heart breaking in ways it hadn’t before—deeper and more agonizing.

But what _could _have happened had he actually put a bullet in her that night made him tremble with fear. Maybe Chuck would have sent her back. Maybe she would have gone to Hell. That had been his biggest fear all along—that somehow he’d cost her an eternity of damnation because he’d choked. Maybe he would relive the nightmare every night until her finally drank himself to death.

And then his mind looped back to those final moments.

_She was still snickering, then abruptly, she hissed out a cry that stole Dean’s wind, and fell to the ground._

_The bracelet around her wrist was glowing._

_“Shit!” Dean screamed, running over to her. “Need some help, here!”_

_But there was no one to help him. In the distance, he heard Harry yelling, “Expelliarmus!” like it was his job, the snarls of vamps and the hard smacks of bodies colliding. And Faith had her hand around her wrist, her eyes now shiny with tears of pain. And he watched in horror as the glow began to spread up her skin. Like a cancer he could watch._

_Faith looked up, meeting his gaze, and something else jolted through him._

_“Kill me,” she said, nodding at the gun in his hand. “Do it. Do it now.”_

_Dean hesitated, swallowed. This was so not what he had signed up for._

_“Do it!” Faith screamed, grabbing his hand with her free one and pressing the nozzle to her brow._

And this time there was no vampire that collided with him and tackled him to ground and caused him to drop the gun. With trembling fingers he squeezed the trigger and felt the recoil. And instead of vanishing in a burst of light, Faith laid dark and lifeless on the cemetery ground with her skull an unrecognizable mess of flesh, blood and brain matter.

But without the light taking her away, she could never come back. She _had_ to get into the bracelet because that’s how she had ended up in Kansas—how she ended up with him.

Looking down at her and realizing he’d just killed his fucking soulmate and wiped away any chance of all those amazing and crazy moments they’d shared or would share down the road filled him with terror he’d never felt. Dropping the gun, he collapsed to the earth with a guttural howl he didn’t recognize—it was more demonic than human and all raw unfiltered emotion.

The world faded to black, but somewhere far away he heard his name and he knew the voice. He couldn’t live a lifetime of her calling out to him—taunting him for what he’d done. “No,” he snapped as he reached out in the darkness for anything with which to kill himself. “No, no, _no_,” he repeated as he told himself he had endured enough. He’d rather be dead than listen to her cry out in the dark.

A sharp pain jolted him back to reality. As his brain quickly assessed the situation, he reached up and rubbed his cheek. “Did you just bitch slap me?” he croaked.

“Do you remember me bitch slapping you?” Faith asked slowly.

His face and jaw hurt like a mother and when he turned his neck, there was a twinge. “Pretty sure you bitch-slapped me.”

“You okay?” she said softly and he immediately recognized the situation—he’d vocalized part of his nightmare.

“You didn’t break anything, but you definitely have a boo-boo to kiss and make better. Worse nurse ever,” he added as he sat up and worked to readjust the sheet and blanket around them.

“Ducky?” And he didn’t need to see her face to know the look she way giving him in the dark.

“Was just reliving my greatest nightmare—the time I almost got cast in _Casa Erotica 7_, but I screwed up the audition time,” he joked. “That’s the one where they have the threesome all dressed up as—”

“Dean!” she growled. “Don’t fucking try to pull shit on me—not _me_.”

Dean tensed and briefly contemplated just telling her to fuck off and go to sleep—but he knew that was also one of his go-to deflection tactics and she’d just call him on it, too. With a deep sigh, he flopped back down on the pillow. “Fine, I _didn’t _even try to audition for any _Casa Eroticas. _Happy_?”_

He felt her fall back on the mattress beside him. “You really gonna make this a thing?”

“Is me not telling you a thing?” He already knew the answer.

“You know the answer,” she said right back and he had to admit they had some freaky mind-meld shit that he and Sam had a lot of time.

“I need a drink,” he mumbled. “Or one of them Little Debbie cherry pies—with beer. Or whiskey. Or just some milk.”

“Ducky Winchester,” Faith spoke with a sigh.

“So I’ve been having this dream on repeat for a few months,” he gave up and confessed. “Been kinda weirding me out and probably helped contribute to the recent increase in alcohol intake and all-around shitty disposition. Granted, there’s been a few contributing factors—several of which go right back to Sammy. Or me…fuck, I dunno.” He rolled over to face her in the dark, propping an elbow on the mattress to hold his head. “Needless to say I’m used to mixing up my bad memories so I couldn’t really figure out why this one’s been on repeat.”

She shifted and Dean imagined twisted her body to mirror him. “I’m with you, baby,” she whispered gently as he felt her hand graze his arm.

“Long story short is tonight it got worse. Instead of wondering if I fucked up, I fucked up so hard there was no way to…” To what he asked himself. Live? That was too melodramatic even by his own twisted standards. Sacrifice yourself, maybe, but you don’t go just offing yourself like a dumbass. You go out by bacon or a blaze of glory—no in between.

“Dean?” Faith said after a time. Maybe he could just fake falling asleep, but she’d just start slapping or tickling him. Sometimes he wished she was a little bit dumber than him—bitch beat him in every category.

“It’s just weird—even by _our _standards. And I say that living in a world of weird, but this is just kinda…fate-ish. And I say it as a dude who does not endorse fate or destiny or any other predetermined bullshit.”

“‘Kay, I get the disclaimer,” she teased. “Now play the movie.”

“I dreamed about you every night,” he said with a rush of heat to his cheeks. “Some nights I remember how you told me to duck and how I fucking said ‘goose’ because I was too caught up watching you get your slay on. Every night though I’d watch you beg me to…” He couldn’t say it. “And then get hit and drop the gun and watch you burn up in a flash of white light. Then I’d wake up and wonder if I’d sent you to Hell.”

She didn’t speak, but he heard her breath quicken. “Hadn’t had one like that for a couple weeks now—not since you came back. But tonight it started again, but then it changed. The vamp didn’t show up and…” His voice cracked. “And I did it.”

It was stupid to hate himself for something he hadn’t even done, but in that moment he couldn’t help but despise his subconscious and his conscious and every fucked up fiber of himself. He cleared his throat. “So, there. Show’s over, Kitty. Let’s just go back to sleep, eh?”

There was little chance of that, though, and Dean wasn’t surprised when he felt her ran her hand down his spine. Nor was he surprised when she cast herself astride him, though he wasn’t sure he was any more in the mood than he’d been before he’d come to bed. Actually, he was pretty damn sure he was about as far from horny as he’d ever been. But Faith didn’t start gyrating and she didn’t reach for his dick. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her shoulder.

And that was it. Dean felt the tension in his muscles begin to wane. Dammit, she always seemed to know exactly what he needed.

This side of him was one she’d seen before and it hadn’t scared her off. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to share it, except that sharing any of the vulnerable shit had never come naturally to him, and he might love her with all of him, but all of him was kind of a shitty package. Part of him—a big part, come to think of it—kept expecting her to do the smart thing and save herself whenever she saw him like this. But she didn’t. Instead, she climbed into his lap and fucking hugged him.

Fuck. He felt his eyes stinging and felt like a fucking dick, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around her and holding her to him. Feeling the echo of her heartbeat against his chest, her breaths in his hair, her scent in his nose and her skin against his skin. Here. Right here and all real.

“I think about that night a lot,” she said, her voice rough. “More than I wanna, if I’m bein’ honest. And I think about you that night. Guy I didn’t know who shows up outta nowhere with a fucking gun while the world goes to shit.” She released a little laugh, the expulsion of air tickling the hairs at his nape. “When I realized that first night I was back that you were the one with me when it all went up… I dunno. My mind was all over the fucking map. Coming back, being buck-ass naked, not knowing where the hell I was or who I was with.”

“And I was the ass who pulled a gun on you.”

Faith snorted and drew back. “Bitch pops into existence in the back of your car, busts out your window, and high-tails it like a motherfucker. I’d think you really were a slow learner if you didn’t have a gun on me.”

“I knew who you were, Fay,” he said, tightening his hold on her, focusing on the steady thumps of her heart. “We both did.”

“No, Ducky, you didn’t. You played it safe. Wolfram and Hart shit can’t be trusted. I woulda done the same thing.” Faith pressed her brow to his, linking her hands now behind his neck. “You and me’ve been together pretty much the entire time since I got back. Don’t think I’ve slept by myself a single damn night.”

He grinned in spite of himself. “Sorry not sorry.”

“But you weren’t a cuddle monster that first night. And sometimes I try to catch winks when we’re on the road…” She released a shaky breath. “When I think about the night I died, I remember being scared outta my mind. Had a few dreams about it, myself, but not many. A few that first night. Sometimes in the car. And I figured it out pretty quick that when you’re my cuddly ducky, the dreams don’t come.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t try. Just squeezed her closer to him. If she were anything but a slayer, he imagined she might feel a little suffocated. But she was a slayer, _his _slayer, and didn’t complain.

“And when I think about it—that night now… This is gonna sound nuts since I didn’t know you then.”

Dean tittered, some of the pressure in his chest loosening. “Baby, think we missed the _nuts _turnoff a while back.”

“Yeah, well… I didn’t have two months of time to think about how shit went. I was there, then I wasn’t, and then I was in your fucking car. Ten minutes max between all three, so I went from not knowing you to jumping on your dick within a few hours, from where I’m sittin’. And like I said, haven’t had much time apart since.”

Yeah. The only time they’d had apart, really, had been when they’d taken off to get away from each other and ended up working the same damn case. That hadn’t been that long ago—a couple of weeks, maybe. And somehow in that time Faith had gone from being the person he needed to run from to the person he needed to run with. Their relationship had been hard and fast from the start, and while that still freaked him out, he couldn’t and didn’t want to think about it being another way anymore. Maybe he should’ve known from the beginning.

“I dunno, the memory of the cemetery that night is just…not as scary as it oughta be, I guess. That’s why I think about it so much, tryin’ to figure out why it didn’t change me. And I think it’s because I can’t go there without running into you.” She ran her hand down his neck, nails scratching at his skin. “That oughta have been the worst night of my life but thinkin’ about it ain’t hard because you’re there. And I know what comes next.”

“Faith…” Shit, he was crying again. He tried to hide it, hoped the dark in the room would keep his secret, but he had to sniff and knew that gave the game away. But she didn’t care. She kissed his wet cheeks and shuddered, then pulled his mouth to hers. He might have been ashamed for trembling as hard as he was, but he found he couldn’t care too much. It was nothing she didn’t already know.

Dean didn’t realize he was moving until he fell against her. He had her pressed to the mattress, warm and welcoming beneath him, her mouth still moving over his in soft, unhurried kisses that both stoked the fire he’d thought doused for the night and comforted all in the same beat. And though he felt himself harden, thought he could slip inside of her and take comfort in the very _here_-ness that was Faith, there was something about this too. Just kissing her, feeling her under him, and yes, the beat of that strong, warrior’s heart, persistent against his chest.

At last, he drew back and stared at the dark space where he knew she was. And hoped that the next time he had a dream like that, he could think of this moment. Faith waiting for him there, not afraid or lost or hurt or dead, but close enough to touch and breathe and kiss and love even if he couldn’t see her.

He didn’t resist when she tugged his head down to her chest, just wrapped his arms around her, rested his cheek against her breastbone, and listened to her heart. The steady, reassuring _thumps _were ultimately what lulled him back to sleep.

This time, there were no nightmares.


	82. Chapter 82

Though Crowley seemed to be of the opinion that Buffy was completely docile, it was becoming apparent that he wouldn’t become so complacent that he’d remove the chains, which was fine, because Buffy could get out of those just as well on her own. She just worried that using too much force might make the break in the chains obvious, and she wasn’t sure if she’d need to keep the act up, or if her first scavenge of his office would yield the results she wanted. So she had to balance the act carefully.

No one really knew how strong she was except for Spike. Sure, Zack and Kelly knew she had them beat any day of the week, but what they typically saw of her was still her pulling her punches. Zack had gotten a glimpse during his soulless stint, when she’d managed to bust free of the manacles he hadn’t been smart enough to enchant. Then there had been the time when they’d been grabbed by Wolfram and Hart’s cronies a few months back, but he’d been in and out of consciousness and assumed that the demons they’d slaughtered had been beaten so brutally just because of adrenaline. He’d never asked or noticed.

And that had been on a steady diet of pig’s blood. The stuff Crowley had been cramming down her throat these last few—how much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Months?—was one hundred percent human. And as Spike had opined on many occasions, human blood was the true diet of the vampire. Where pig’s blood satisfied her, human blood pumped her full of power and strength beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Which, while an advantage for sure, also made it a bit difficult to gauge just how much pressure to use when flexing her wrists against the bonds that held her.

So she went by it very slowly. An inch of pressure here, a strain there—if the metal began to whine, she’d stop, recalculate, and push more.

_“Easy does it, love,”_ the Spike in her mind advised.

Buffy snorted, her chest tightening. “Like you’d have the patience to do this easy,” she replied aloud. Because he wouldn’t. Spike was many things, but patient was not one of them.

He scoffed. _“About the things that matter, I’m plenty patient. Give a bloke some credit.”_

That was true, too. Spike had a short fuse but he knew how to slow down the burn when things were real. Case in point—Crowley said that Spike had been in Hell looking for her almost as long as she’d been there. Teeming with demons as Hell was, it would be more than a little easy for Spike to find himself in a situation that would get him captured at best or dusted at worst. Spike on a rampage would have been stopped well before now, but he hadn’t been. He was making the right calls, the right moves, to stay off everyone’s radar. Crowley had tried one day to tell her that Spike was dust, and had been disheartened when Buffy had broken her silence by bursting out into laughter and reminding him that she’d feel it if he was dead.

Crowley had starved her for two days after that, and started his soul-extraction attempts again, just to spite her.

_“And you call me impulsive,” _her inner Spike teased.

“Shut up,” Buffy replied.

_“So what’s the plan, pet? You get free and then what?”_

“I bust out and try to find you.”

_“So now we’re just two vamps wanderin’ around the sodding underworld tryin’ to find each other. I know where you are, don’t I?”_

“Do you?”

_“’Course I do. That git mighta pulled the wool over my eyes there for a spell, but once I sussed out he’d givin’ us both the runaround, it’d be bloody obvious. He’s keepin’ you close to him.”_

“But you don’t know where that is.”

_“Slayer, think about every plan of mine you foiled back in the day. How’d you manage it?”_

“Your incompetence, mostly.”

_“Oi. No need for that.”_

“Well, you’d do something obviously of the evil variety and kinda give the game away.”

_“Answer is I’d get cocky. Crow a bit to the wrong bloke, let things slip out. You really think nabbing the Slayer is somethin’ a bloke like Crowley can keep to himself? No bloody fun if others don’t know what you managed to pull off.”_

“He wanted to keep me a secret.”

_“Yeah, but how do you expect to keep other demons in line? You let them know what they’re dealin’ with. Now imagine bein’ the bloke that put an end to your illustrious career. Best Slayer to ever walk this hunk of dirt suddenly goes missin’ and you, the King of Hell, are the only one who knows you got the best of her. How long you wager you can keep that to yourself?”_

Buffy inhaled and nodded. “Not long,” she agreed, glancing around the office. “Crowley’s hold on his lackeys seems a little… Well, shaky. Think a lot of them are loyal to Lucifer, or think he’d be the better guy running things down here.”

_“Right you are, Slayer. But what’s one thing Crowley’s done that the devil hasn’t?”_

“Oh, shaddup. So Crowley’s been talking to demons who have been talking to demons, and now there’s a grapevine…and you’re clued into it.” Buffy released a deep breath. “You know where I am. Leaving would put us back at square one.”

_“Mite disappointed it took you so bloody long to realize it, don’t mind admittin’.”_

“So your answer is I sit here and let Crowley think he’s winning until you get here?”

_“Fuck no. Think it’s high time you tapped into your own demon, love. Hate to think of it, but we both know Angelus taught you a trick or two. Can you think of a wanker more deservin’ of that than the one who’s ripped you open in more ways than one tryin’ to get to that precious soul of yours?”_

The thought hit her like the proverbial bucket of cold water. Buffy swallowed and gave the office a look, her mind at once filled with images of what her life had been like the last few months. Months, because she knew, deep down, that was what it had been since she’d taken the dive. How long it had been since she’d seen the world outside of these walls. Since she’d pressed her lips to Spike’s, looked into his agonized, tear-filled eyes before turning her back on him and running for the mouth of Hell. All because she’d trusted the word of a demon, a demon who had come to them knowing how desperate they were and dangled a solution that had been too good to be true. All because he’d wanted a vampire slayer’s soul to add to his special collection.

And oh, how he’d enjoyed it. Trying to pull her apart, jerk her soul out using his powers, and when that hadn’t worked, cutting open her skin, pulling apart her ribs, searching around her insides for any hint of it. How he’d paraded her around wearing nothing, those long, lingering looks at the parts of her body he’d kept on display. On the whole, Buffy wasn’t a big fan of torture—receiving or delivering—but she couldn’t deny that the part of her she’d spent the better part of ten years trying to pretend didn’t exist—the demon part—relished the idea of paying the asshole back a little of what he’d given her. Or a lot. Maybe, definitely a lot.

Just enough to keep Crowley occupied until Spike showed up, in case any of his underlings came wandering by to do wellness checks. Once Spike was here, she could make good on the promise to kill her demon captor because that was one son of a bitch who definitely had a Buffy Summers slay written in their stars.

“When you’re right, you’re right,” she said to the Spike in her head and twisted her wrists just hard enough that the telltale _snick _of the locking mechanism giving rang through the air.

*~*~*

Lucifer had to admit it—the prospect of intercourse with a human, unseemly as it was, was definitely aided by the fact that his walking Nephilim incubator was easy on the eyes. While he’d never met a slayer prior to running into Faith that night, he’d understood that Dad had made them with a bit more _oomph _that made them stand out from their less worthy human cousins. Faith Lehane was truly a work of art.

A work of art that pulled up to the Village Café in Esbon, Kansas—a brief, fourteen-minute drive from Lebanon—in a certain Winchester’s prized Impala. It was early enough to be early, but not so much that she didn’t need a pair of shades. And when Faith pulled herself out of Dean’s car, she looked… Well, good. Lucifer would go so far as to say _happy_. Which was rather annoying.

Still—Lucifer shot a look to the guy he’d been here to see, Wes, who stood waiting for his to-go order to be filled—this would definitely prove interesting.

*~*~*

Faith definitely missed having a Starbucks within walking distance, but the small mom n’ pop places she’d discovered in the Lebanon area did have their charm. The Village Café might not make the best cup of coffee, but their breakfast was phenomenal, and after the night her ducky had had, she figured he deserved more than Cap’n Crunch. And seeing as Kelly was still too fucking traumatized from having tried to kill her and Ro, odds of a vampy breakfast were on the slim side.

Still, the last fucking thing she expected when she walked into the joint was to see Wesley Wyndham-Pryce sitting at a small table. She stopped short, her breath catching, and every inch of her going tense.

It was dumb. Beyond dumb. Fuck, though she and Dean hadn’t talked about it outright, they’d both known the day would come—sooner rather than later—when Wes would pop back into their lives. Or her life, rather, as he’d never been in Dean’s. Being that the guy was boning the Winchesters’ sister made it almost inevitable. And given that there weren’t many places around here that served warm eats before seven in the morning, it made sense that he’d be on the hunt for grub in places she knew about. Like this one.

But Faith wasn’t ready. Her mind launched her back what had been just a handful of days in her way of thinking, to that night that apparently haunted Dean’s dreams as much as her own. To Wes on his knees before her, tears in his eyes, telling her she was right about everything. Begging her for the chance to take the bracelet off and assume its fate himself. His increasing desperation when he’d realized it truly wouldn’t come off, that she was going to die and it would be his fault.

_ “No,” he cried, tugging harder. “This is my mess. Mine. I can’t lose you too.”_

_“Wes…” Faith sighed and rolled her head back. “I was never yours to lose.”_

_“But—”_

_“Yeah, I thought something there for a while,” she said, trying to ignore the hard crack in her chest. “But you and me? We ain’t healthy. Never would be. And even if you hadn’t just nearly killed a girl I love like a sister, we got too much bad.”_

_“It wasn’t bad.”_

_“Wes, I literally kidnapped and tortured you once.”_

_“You’re not that person anymore.”_

_“No, I’m not,” Faith agreed softly. “But I also ain’t the girl you fucked last night. That girl thought that even with all the shit you’d been through, you were still better than me.” She shook her head. “You’re not. You got buyer’s remorse right now, but can you tell me you’d turn down the chance to stake the vamp who looks like the guy who killed your girlfriend?”_

_There was no response, and though she knew better, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of disappointment._

_“I wanted to help you out of your dark place. But it turns out, I’m a sucky ass guide.”_

_“You were helping. I’d… I didn’t think I could feel like this for someone else so quickly—”_

_“But you don’t,” Faith deadpanned. “You don’t. And fucking with feelings ain’t really my thing anyway. Throw in all the daddy issues I got with the guy who was supposed to be my watcher? I ain’t Dr. Phil, but that’s fucked up.” She huffed out a laugh. “I’m gonna die, Wes. You can’t change that.”_

There was the pain she’d felt then—the disappointment in herself and in him. The certainty of what would come next. Now, staring at him, she marveled that how just a few minutes after that conversation, she’d run into the guy who had convinced her in just a few short days that fucking with feelings was her thing after all. How everything wrong that had happened that night had led her to where she was now.

To Dean, the guy who loved her. Really loved her. Loved her in ways that the guy she was staring at right now never would have. And how she felt about Dean was beyond anything she’d thought she’d ever feel.

So much so that when Wes caught sight of her, when the boredom on his face gave way to shock and then fear, Faith found herself smiling at him.

“Hey,” she said hoarsely. “Long time.”

Wes didn’t respond at first, just kept staring at her. At length, he rose to his feet, his mouth still slack and his eyes filling with tears. “Faith…” A beat passed. He closed his mouth and swallowed, then shot a glance to the door behind her. “Are you…?”

“Breakfast run. Same as you, from the looks.” Faith found herself moving before her mind could keep up, and didn’t know she meant to hug the asshole until she felt his arms close around her.

“Faith,” Wesley croaked, and started to cry. “Oh god, it really is you.”

She grinned in spite of herself and inhaled, drawing in the scent that had once been so familiar to her. They hadn’t been lovers but a day or so, but she’d spent enough time around Wes in those months leading up to the bracelet shit that something in her chest gave a funny lurch. It wasn’t sadness or loss, or even nostalgia, rather another one of those moments that told her just how real her reality was. That grounded her in the knowledge that everything that had happened since she’d popped back into existence was something she could trust.

“You’re hugging me,” Wes said a moment later, as though just realizing it himself. He trembled slightly, then pulled back to look at her. His eyes narrowed. “You _are _Faith Lehane, right? Because the Faith I know is more than within her rights to beat me bloody.”

Faith snickered and drew back, unable to kill her grin. “Wait around a bit. This’ll wear off in a second and I’ll do more than beat you bloody. I’ll knock your stuffing out.”

He laughed, tears spilling down his cheeks. “There she is.”

“Might be a bit softer around the edges these days, but I don’t let assholes off scot-free.” She glanced around the café. “Sabrina tryin’ to figure out how to use a Muggle john or is she back at the tent?”

The smile on Wes’s face faded a bit. “You know about Sabrina.”

“Wes, she’s my boyfriend’s sister. What the fuck do you think?”

It was the first time she’d said the b-word to anyone but Dean, but it rolled right off her tongue with such ease that she nearly started grinning again like a moron. But decided not to, otherwise, the asshole might think she really was a stand-in and get the wise idea to try and off her again.

“So you are, then,” Wes said instead, barely taking time to nod at the employee who came by to deliver his order. “You’re with Dean Winchester now. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.”

Some of the warm fuzzies burned off at that, and Faith felt herself going tense. “Well, shit, Wes, what the hell’d you think would happen? I pop back into existence and look you up?”

“No, it’s not that. Not that at all, actually.” A flush warmed the man’s grizzled cheeks. “I just… I’ve never known you to embrace that sort of label with anyone. And from what I understand, you haven’t been—ahh, _back_—all that long. I suppose I’m just surprised. If anything, I would have expected that what happened between us might put you off to that sort of relationship forever.”

“Yeah, well, we tried the fuck buddy route and it didn’t work. Or it worked really fucking well. Depends on how you look at it.” Faith shifted her gaze to the bathroom again. “Seriously, is she about to bust out here? The girl don’t seem to like me too much and I’d appreciate a head’s up.”

Wesley frowned. “Sabrina doesn’t know you well enough to like you or not. I’m sure you’re mistaken—”

“I ain’t mistaken. Trust me, I got the stink-eye from Ro enough when I came back to know it. Seems everyone thinks that just because I rode a dick once upon a time, I’m gonna wanna stake my claim again. Cordy gave it to me, too, when I first joined up with you guys. And Kelly’s still twisted up about what happened with Zack. I know the look when I see it.” Faith crossed her arms. She hadn’t wanted to mention this much to Dean last night, especially since it seemed he’d gotten back on the right track with his sister, but she’d have to let him know eventually, because there was a good damn chance that Sabrina’s bad Faith-feelings might infect her budding relationship with her brother. And she couldn’t let that happen. “So for real, she here?”

Wesley shook his head. “Ahh, no. She was rather tuckered after yesterday. Rather emotional experience, from what I gather. I volunteered to find food this morning.”

Faith nodded, relaxing slightly. “You treat her right, you hear me? No more of that bullshit substituting her for Fred or anyone else. Girl’s been through a lot in the past few days and she doesn’t need to find out the hard way she’s playing the role of someone’s stand-in.”

“Faith, that wasn’t what you—”

“We both know better than that.”

Wesley closed his mouth, swallowed hard, then, almost as though someone was pulling his strings, gave a nod. “Yes, you’re right,” he said thickly. “It was never my intention, Faith. Believe that. My mind… My thoughts were all over the place then. All I could think about was killing him. Doing to him what he’d done to her.”

“I know.” She was still a moment, then relaxed just slightly. “Zack told me what you did at the law firm. Morris, that is. He told me you had the chance to take him out and didn’t. So…seems you took what I told you there at the end to heart. I’m glad. But old habits are shit, you know? And Dean’s got enough reasons to hate you without you throwing in ‘made his baby sister cry’. You ever wanna be invited over for Thanksgiving, you better be in it for the right reasons.”

Wesley nodded, worked his throat. “I believe I am, if it’s any consolation. We… What we share is different, independent, of whatever it was that… Well, you and I.” He released a deep breath, the look in his eyes turning inquisitive. “You are very protective of the people you love. That has always been a virtue of yours.”

The use of the l-word in correlation to Dean had her heart thundering, and something that might have been panic flashed across her face, for Wes’s eyes went wide.

“You are happy, aren’t you?” he asked. “That’s all I want for you.”

“I am,” she said without bothering to check herself. Only she didn’t need to check herself because the second she heard the words, she knew it was true. That the thing she’d been living with over the past few days, the uncertainty and fear, all stemmed from the knowledge that she, Faith Lehane, knew what happiness felt like for the first time in her life. “And I don’t mind telling you that freaks me out. Never figured I’d get to experience this one way or another.”

“Do you love him?”

Fuck. That question, the same one she’d been wrestling with since the day Buffy had jumped. Since Dean had told her the first time, sending her into orbit. “I don’t know,” she answered, though the words didn’t feel right. “Fuck me, you know how bad I am at this shit. This thing with Dean has been off the rails since we first… But good, you know? So damn good. Like good I never thought I’d get. I always thought Buffy was a bit of a sucker. I get she and Blondie have this big, epic romance, but givin’ it all up for a guy always struck me as dumb. People who are in love do stupid shit.” She sniffed. “They get hurt. And the last fucking thing I wanna do is hurt Dean.”

“You think you will?”

“I’m afraid I could.” But that wasn’t it. She bit her lower lip. “Scared shitless he could hurt me, too, if you wanna know the truth. ‘Cause I’ve seen what that can do too. Don’t think it’d be on purpose, with the way he loves, but we’re both fuck-ups and prone to stupid shit.” A tear traced down her cheek. “Kinda love that about him, actually.”

Wes cleared his throat, and she realized with a jolt she’d somewhat forgotten he was there.

“Let me ask you this,” Wes said after a beat. “Can you imagine your life without him?”

“Yeah.” All too easily. “But I don’t wanna.”

“Is there anyone you count on more than him?”

“No.” The word was out before she could stop it—hell, she hadn’t meant to say it at all. That wasn’t the sort of thing Faith felt comfortable telling anyone, let alone Wes. But maybe it was because it was Wes that it felt easy. There were few people who had ever been closer to her than her former Watcher.

“Is he the reason you’re happy?” he asked softly. “The reason you… Faith, you bloody hugged me. Even if I hadn’t gotten you killed, do you realize how unlike you that is?”

Now that he mentioned it, yeah, she did. But it had felt natural. Right, even. Because without what had happened in Los Angeles, she wouldn’t be here. And Wes was responsible for that.

“And…” Wes swallowed again. “Did you ever feel about me the way you feel about Dean?”

“Shit no.” Another case of her mind not being able to filter her mouth. Faith winced, realizing how harsh that sounded. “Sorry, that’s…”

“Honest.” Wes offered a small smile. “It’s honest.”

“It is, but when I said I’d kick the stuffin’ outta you, I meant physically,” Faith said. “The shit that heals. Turns out I ain’t got much of a beef with you. Realized when I saw you here that you’re the reason I _am _here. You gettin’ me killed… I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that.” And it was an odd thing to be grateful for. “What happened with you and me was… I was drawn to your dark. It was familiar. But Wes, the day you and I first fucked? I ran to Nick and told him to fuck you outta me because it felt wrong.”

Wesley wrinkled his nose. “I believe I could have happily gone the rest of my life without knowing that.”

Faith snorted. “Well, it’s true. I was feelin’ shit and I didn’t wanna. Thought it was because I’d gone soft for you but I don’t think that was it. I think it felt wrong because it was never supposed to be like that with you and me. You were all dark then and I don’t want dark. Think if I got more of it, it’d kill me and no one, not even fucking Chuck, would wanna drag my ass back.” She released a deep breath. “Dean has his dark, too. That might be what I first saw in him…and yeah, it scared me, but not for the same reasons. Think it scared me more because…he didn’t want the dark. He wants to be better, same as I do, ‘cept he wants it so much he can’t even see that he already is. And I don’t know if he ever will, if he’ll ever believe what a good man he is. The best man I know. It’ll never be enough for him, even though he spends every day tryin’ to prove to himself that he is. And fucked up as it is, I love that about him, too.”

Shit, she was crying again. Faith scowled and wiped at her eyes, briefly debated kicking Wes through the nearest window for making her feel like this—open, raw, and exposed in a place she didn’t consider safe. The people around her didn’t know her, but she was enough of a regular that they would remember her, and the last thing she needed was to be recognized as the girl who lost her shit in the dining area.

“That sounds familiar,” Wes said softly. “You realize you could be talking about yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Figure there’s a reason I keep tryin’ to off myself for the world. So much shit I’ve done that will never be right. Dean tells me I got miles to go before I touch his level of dark, and the dumb fucker actually believes it. He thinks I’m good, and even if I don’t. But the way he believes it, it feels like it could be enough for the both of us. I love that too. So I’ll believe in him the same way. Maybe we’ll balance each other out.”

There was a long pause. When she felt brave enough to look up at Wes, she found him grinning at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, looking away like a child who’d been caught sneaking something. Then he shook his head and met her gaze again. “You just told me three things you love about Dean, all within the span of maybe ninety seconds.”

“So?”

“So? Faith, is there anything about this man you _don’t_ love?”

The question almost knocked her off her ass. Not because he’d asked it, but because the answer was obvious. And there—right there.

“No,” she said, her eyes going wide. At once, her heart started to pound and her temples to pulse. The fear was there, as it always was, but not as loud this time, nor as messy. Maybe because she realized the point of no return had already been crossed. Because it had—saying the words or keeping them to herself wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

She was in love with Dean Winchester. Hell, she had been for days. Part of her had known it even if the rest of her had been busy making excuses. But excuses didn’t change the facts.

Faith was in love with Dean. Hot, messy, wonderful love.

Now she just needed to find a way to tell him.


	83. Chapter 83

Dean slept pretty damn well after he and Faith had their little moment in the dark post nightmare. All the dreams he remembered from that point until morning had been of the fun and sexy variety. One had Fay wearing a Zorro mask and the other had him full-on firefighter. He was gonna have to do some kinky costume shopping later.

He probably would have slept on a few if she hadn’t wiggled out of bed. He laid there in the dark as he heard her move around and softly open some drawers and the closet before slipping out into the hall. Kitty was on the prowl and apparently she didn’t want to quack her duck.

If she was getting dressed at this hour, he sincerely hoped it was for breakfast—they’d skipped out on dinner after eating pizza and crap all day yesterday so there definitely room for some bacon and eggs in his stomach. Feeling mischievous, he got up and found his phone and car keys, flipping on the flashlight app before storing them under his pillow and lying down to play possum.

He was right about her as she crept back in the room and went straight to rummaging his pockets. He nearly cracked when he heard her curse under her breath and then she moving over toward the bed to presumably search his nightstand. He whipped out the phone and flashed the light right in her face. “Looking for something?”

“Son of a bitch!” she snapped, covering her eyes and jerking back. “I was trying to be nice and get you breakfast, dick.”

He arched a brow. “That why you holding my wallet?”

She smirked and went to turn on a light. “I said _get_, not _buy_.” Once the room was illuminated fully, he switched off the flashlight. “I was even a good girl and stopped by B’s room and grabbed her cell.”

He snickered as he sat up. “Good girl.” He laughed outright when she pretended to be offended. “Steal my wallet. Steal my heart. _Always_ stealing my phone and now you try and steal my Baby.”

He enjoyed the way her eyes lit up when he slid the little romantic twist in with the rest of the banter. He was one whipped ducky and he loved it.

“How do you want your eggs?” She sauntered over, knowing she’d already won.

He slipped his hand under the pillow and retrieved the keys. “Omelette. One of those with everything they got. Extra bacon and onions.”

She bent down and gave him one of her signature kisses that she damn well knew got him hot and ready before snatching the keys and pulling back with a wink. “Scrambled egg whites with no bacon and onions. Got it.”

“Or we can skip the eggs and I can eat you instead?” he offered in the husky tone she always seemed to enjoy.

“Mmm,” she replied for before coming back for another taste of his lips. “Sorry,” she joked as she stepped away. “See, I’m kinda hungry too. Eating you only gets me a couple mouthfuls of protein. Not gonna fuel me for the day, if you know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “Appetizer?”

Fay’s giggle was his favorite song. “Nice try, lover ducky. Make us some coffee.”

He kept his eyes glued on her ass as she left and then flopped back down on the mattress after she left him alone. He contemplated rubbing one out to fix his morning wood, but decided he better hold off—bitch was bound to run him dry at the pace they were going. Eventually, he got his mind out of Faith’s gutter and got up and dressed.

He wasn’t all surprised when, shortly after hitting the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, Sam and Rosalie strolled in looking and smelling like they’d just had a hard run. “Ya’ll know there’s more fun forms of exercise, right?”

Sam scoffed as Rose went over to the fridge. “Let me guess—you think sex counts as cardio?”

Dean nodded with a smirk. “And weightlifting, if you do it right.”

Rosalie retrieved a couple of bottles of water before shutting the door and turning around. After tossing one to her watcher, she popped off the top and drained the second in one long chug. “Problem is,” she said as she tossed the bottle in the trash, “slayers don’t fuck too many baddies. We do however run and catch them a lot.”

“Not really something you need to practice though,” Dean countered as he went to find a mug.

“That what you and Faith are doing?” Rose quipped. “_Practicing?_”

He had to laugh. “Sammy, I think she needs to be training you. She’s got the comebacks down to an art.”

“Trust me, I know,” his little brother said dryly.

“You both know you love me,” she teased. She looked at Sam. “We gonna do some more combat training with the nunchucks? They were pretty fun until that one slipped and I kinda nunned your chucks.”

“Wait, what?” Dean wanted a story—more accurately, a demonstration. “I say we go recreate this moment.”

“Rather not,” Sam said quickly. “My…_chucks_ hurt for a week.”

“Dawnie might be mad if I damaged the fruit in you Looms now,” Rose joked before turning to Dean. “And Faith would probably kick my ass if I cracked your nuts.”

He winced and eyed Sam. “All past jealousy is gone. I _so_ don’t want to train slayers. They be scary little bitches.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Says the guy dating Faith.”

“Ah,” he said, pointing a finger at her before grabbing a cup. “Dating being the key word.” He tried not to sound too giddy about getting to say it. “No training required and she doesn’t hit below the belt.”

Except she did—sometimes with a belt. Sometimes she whipped him hard and sometimes she wrapped it around his neck and squeezed there as she squeezed his dick. And then the one time he’d taken the belt and gotten her off by—

“_Dude_,” Sam said, breaking his thoughts. “_Gross_.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

Rose cleared her throat. “Wherever you went made you groan and start getting an erection. Whatever it is has to be gross.”

Dean turned around and admonished his rubber ducky. “You’re just jealous.”

“Not even a little,” Rose chirped. “Just keep the volume and the boners to a minimum, Mr. Lehane. I’m hitting the shower.”

Dean got Little Dean put down and went back to procuring caffeine. He noted the way Sam hadn’t left and kept looking at him. Finally, he cracked. “Like you never seen me get a boner before.”

“Again, gross,” Sam snapped. Then he sighed. “So you meant what you said about the jealousy thing? You know, the Watcher situation.”

“Umm, yeah.” He poured a cup and took a sip. “Nunchucked in the chucks—not my idea of a good time.”

“You know what I mean, Dean.”

He did. He just hadn’t really planned on getting into it. “So yeah, I didn’t exactly like the way the Brit Brigade came to you over me. Kinda like the Men of Letters. Guessing you got some European vibe with the hair or something.” He noted the annoyed look his brother gave him and shrugged. “It pissed me off, okay? Guess I was looking at it from a seniority standpoint and it got me up in my grumbles. Whole thing did, to be honest—the way everybody seemed to be looking to you and you making all these calls on bringing people in and taking on new burdens and shit.”

Sam sighed. “Look, I know I handled it wrong. I should’ve talked to you before letting Rosalie and Buffy and the guys come here. And I should’ve talked to you before accepting the job from the Watchers Council.”

Dean held up a hand and took a long drink of coffee. After he swallowed he shook his head. “I’m done with all that. Really,” he added when he saw the skepticism in Sammy’s eyes. “Truth be told the last couple weeks have been pretty life-changing—aside from the whole Lucifer and Hellmouth shit.”

“Faith.” He heard the way there was no question.

Slowly, Dean nodded. “Yeah. Faith.” He paused a moment to figure out how to put it all into words. “I’ve told you for a long time that living has been hard for me—not the hunting and fighting and saving the world part. That’s kinda been what’s drove me to get up in the morning. That and you.” He gave Sam a small smile. “You know I ain’t never lost my whole shtick ‘bout protectin’ my little brother—kinda fused to my DNA at this point.”

“Dean—”

“Save the whole speech about how you wear big boy panties now and I don’t got to look out for you. It is what it is and it ain’t gonna change.” He shifted his feet and got back down to business. “The past couple weeks have felt more like years to me. A lot’s happened and it’s kinda hard to put into words without sounding crazy or like a damn Hallmark movie. I’ve changed. Hell, I think I’ve started to do shit I never thought I would—like _like_ my life. And it’s weird and pretty fucking disconcerting for the fact that any time we’ve ever tried to stop and go for the good, we get nailed with more bad than we could imagine. But goddamnit, I got this freaky kinda feeling inside and I think it’s happiness. Even with all the shit going down, I’m not just waking up and going through the motions—I’m _living_.” He looked away as he added this last point. “Truth is a part of me—a bigger part of me than I wanted you to know—hasn’t felt like that since before I went Hell all those years ago.”

Sam was quiet for a long time. “I think a part of me knew that.”

Dean glanced at him and then took another sip of coffee. “So, yeah.”

His brother continued to scrutinize him to the point Dean was about to call him out before he spoke. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? This isn’t just something or even a relationship kinda deal—you are for real in love with her.”

Dean tensed and looked at his coffee for a long moment before shifting his eyes to Sam’s. “I really am.”

“Like Lisa?” And Dean’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of something that had felt so real at the time, but now made him doubt if he had even understood the concept back those years ago.

“No,” he said softly. “Me and Lisa—it was all based on a delusion. I thought I could pretend to be normal and all my baggage would eventually fade away. I don’t got to pretend with Fay—and I haven’t—and she’s stuck around when I’ve unpacked some really heavy shit. At least so far.”

Sam nodded. “You threw a bottle at her?”

Dean blushed at that. “_Fuck_, I had kinda forgot that one. Yeah, definitely not a good moment—but she didn’t back down even after—” He wasn’t gonna get into how he’d thrown her down and fucked her like some rage-fueled animal. He did genuinely feel some residual guilt about that, even if she’d gotten off in the process—his baby deserved better than that.

“Wow,” Sam said at last with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “It just sorta boggles my mind to think of Dean Winchester settling down—maybe getting married and having kids.”

Dean barked a laugh at that. “Slow your roll, dude. She ain’t even said it back to me yet.” And instantly he wanted to nunchuck his chucks—did he just have some fucking Faith filter that shut off in his brain when it came to talking about her? Why did he always say too much?

“You told her?” Sam was full-on grinning now. “Holy shit, dude!”

“Stop,” Dean warned with a growl.

“No,” Sam said, throwing his hands up. “I’m not screwing with you—I’m genuinely impressed. You normally hold this stuff in and let the angst eat you alive.”

Dean chuckled humorously. “Well, I think that Veritaserum caused some permanent damage because I’ve apparently started a habit of spilling all my beans.”

“You know that’s healthy, right?”

Dean scoffed. “Maybe if you’re a little girl.”

Sam’s eyes softened. “So you said it and…”

And she hadn’t. Except he didn’t want to verbalize it because while he’d told her it was okay—and he meant it—it still kinda hurt. It also kinda made him doubt whether she ever could. Though she made him _feel_ like she loved him, the dark parts of him wondered if she couldn’t say it because she just couldn’t accept her ability to give that part of herself to anyone—or worse, that deep down _he_ was unlovable. Or worst of all, he wasn’t Number One where it mattered most.

“Well, then there was this whole deal with a creepy guy making a hard pass at her and her sister taking an unexpected trip down south. Did I mention her ex is here with our new little sister?”

“Gotcha,” Sam said with an eye roll.

“Yeah, I’ll tweet you as shit develops. Maybe do a whole little Rudolph prance—who knows. First thing’s first, when the governor getting here?”

Thankfully Sam took the hint and dropped it. “Hermione’s last message said they were working on getting a chartered plane—sneaking the governor and a magic spouting baby requires some semantics. Thinking this afternoon.”

“Cool. I’d invite you to sit and have more touchy feeling talk while I wait on my breakfast delivery, but you reek.”

Sam shrugged. “At least I got my morning workout done.”

Dean smirked. “I should get my cardio taken care of after we fuel up. Gotta keep the calories up with a slayer.” He winked just to make it more awkward.

“Well, you haven’t matured enough yet,” Sam said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“And here’s to Chuck I never do,” Dean teased as he lifted his mug.

*~*~*

Nick hung up the phone and stopped himself before chucking it against the wall. Truth of the matter was he was really regretting his current career choice. Lorne had just unleashed a load of foul and flowery insults as to how Nick had been handling operations since opening the bar. Apparently closing for hellmouths and devils was considered “excessive” and against the stupid demon’s code that “the show must go on.”

Grumpily, he left the bedroom and stomped toward the garage. He had just been informed of a delivery of stock that he had to go and meet at the bar in a few—Lorne had emphasized he had to refrigerate the blood.

He crossed into the main room and found Rose sitting with a splay of books before her and some of his anger melted. He’d needed a little reminder of why he was doing it all—and why he likely wouldn’t stop.

“Thank God,” she said looking up at him. “Sam and Giles gave me fucking _homework_. They have me listing off every slayer death going back from Faith: The Sequel. Please tell me how Esmeralda Gonzales got whacked.”

“Hernandez-Gonzales. Ecuador. Chupacabra.”

Rosalie looked a twisted mixture of impressed at his memory and horrified about the late slayer’s passing. “Chupacabras are real?”

“They stay more south of here. Shouldn’t be an issue unless we run off to Mexico.” He gave her a pitiful look. “Can we run off to Mexico, love?”

“Hell. Yes.” She slammed the book in front of her shut. “Let’s hit it, baby.”

“We hitting something?” Faith asked as she and Dean strolled in, both looking disgustingly cheerful. “I love hitting somethings.”

“Yeah you do,” Dean said with blatant innuendo.

Nick noticed the way Faith’s eyes danced as she looked to her—Nick was still shocked to say—_boyfriend_. Granted, the last few months had brought some major changes for the both of them in their journey to find peace. He was chuffed to see her looking so happy. Weirded out, but still delighted.

“Now we can’t go,” Rose whined to him. “They’ll tell on us.”

“You two planning to run off together and get married?” Dean joked.

“We were starting with the first,” Nick lamented. “I’d have to work as a cabana boy to afford to marry her proper.”

“Don’t say cabana,” Rose said with a pout. “I want to see a cabana.”

“Ohhh,” Faith agreed. “Warm, sandy beach by the ocean where you can just sit there and do jack shit but tan and drink.”

“Mai Tais and Coronas,” Dean said wistfully. “With the lime wedges stuffed in the bottle.” He looked at Nick and frowned. “We’re out of beer here, man. Thought that was part of the rental agreement that you’d keep us in stock.”

“Bloody hell,” Nick grumbled. “I have to go meet a delivery.” He looked at Rose. “If we go now, we can find a way across the border and start a new life.”

Rose pretended to contemplate it. “Nah, pretty sure my dad is seriously on his way here. I don’t want him to beat up my cabana boy. I kinda think you two have officially crossed into the friend zone.”

“Damn, Nicky,” Faith responded. “You’re moving up since dropping the Wankers Council—got the girl, a business and a friend.”

“I’ll try to count my blessings as I inventory booze and blood for the remainder of my afternoon.”

“Wanna hand?” Dean asked and shrugged when Nick looked at him in surprise. “You had me at booze. Decided to ignore the blood part.”

“That’d actually be great,” he admitted. “Dawn has informed me she will only bartend from now on and Lorne is officially heading back to Los Angeles as we speak.”

“Awesome,” Dean said and looked to Faith. “Whaddaya say? Can I interest you in a drink?”

Faith didn’t react with her usual self-confidence, which immediately struck Nick as odd. Instead, she shuffled ever so slightly and almost looked as though she blushed. “I kinda have a couple of errands I need to run. Girly kinda stuff.”

“Trust me,” Rose said. “I gotcha covered.”

Faith flashed her a quick annoyed look. “Trust me, you don’t.” She looked at Dean. “What if I take Baby and meet you there. Couple hours?”

Dean for his part looked more bemused than anything. “‘Kay,” he agreed. Then he looked at Nick and nodded. “Let’s hit it.”

Nick walked over and gave Rose a kiss goodbye and had expected a similar gesture from the other couple. Faith and Dean locked eyes, gave each other a high-five and then walked off in opposite directions.

Whatever those two had going on, it seemed to be working so Nick wasn’t about to start asking questions.

*~*~*

Dean couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t excited to play bar. Truth be told, if he wasn’t a hunter he would want to run a bar or a mechanic shop. Both came naturally to him and he was a guy who liked using his hands.

Nick hadn’t struck Dean as the type of guy who liked to get his hands dirty. Maybe it was the British accent, but he’d first sized the guy up as a bit bookish and dainty. He’d admit he was wrong—the kid was a hard worker.

After helping the delivery dude unload the truck, he and Nick had put on some tunes and got to work. In between carting cases off to the back, Dean presented his arguments for adding a pool table and maybe some air hockey—both fun ways to swindle a few drunk demons out of some pocket change.

Dean has popped behind the bar and snagged a second cold bottle of beer about an hour in. He heard a rustle behind him. “Foosball table is another solid choice. Or even a little weekly card game. Both are bound to draw you in some extra business.”

“Poke _her_ is a pretty popular game right now, but I wouldn’t place any bets if I were you.”

Dean almost dropped the bottle. Whipping around, he looked Lucifer square in the eye. “What the fuck you doing here?”

Lucifer flashed an easy smile. “Just fancied a chat. _Mano y mano_.” He looked around and flicked his wrist and the music stopped. “Better.”

“Nick,” Dean called out. “We got company.”

Lucifer chuckled. “The boy’s taking a nap at the moment. Didn’t need him getting all up in our business. Figure you and I have enough competition as it is.”

“Huh?” Dean has no clue what the dick was even going on about. “If you wanna talk, start by making sense.”

“Right.” He strolled over to the bar and took a seat. “Pour us something hard, would ya? This is gonna suck for both of us.”

Dean didn’t do anything but set his beer on the bar. “I’m not immortal so could you just spit it out before I get old and croak?”

Lucifer sighed. “Think you’re gonna regret not having that drink ready, but sure. Seems you and me are two peas in a pod. Playing at the same level and both losing the game.”

His temper was getting the best of him. “Oh for fuck’s sake—”

“Neither one of us is taking Faith to the prom, little buddy,” he announced loudly to cut him off. “While you and I were trying to compete to wine and dine her, a third contender snuck in the back door and beat us both.”

Dean couldn’t help himself—he burst out laughing. “You’re shitting me, right? You think telling me that she and _Nick_ are sneaking around is gonna work? You missed the mark on that one by a long shot.”

Lucifer blinked and then gave him an incredulous glare. “How in the _fuck_ did you ever best me at anything, you idiot. Of course I’m not talking about the dumb little bartender boy. I’m talking about her apparent soulmate. The guy she keeps running back to. The one that even death couldn’t stop her from wanting. _That_ guy.”

Dean’s pulse quickened. “You talking about Wes?”

“Wow,” Lucifer mocked. “Maybe you aren’t as dumb as you look.”

“Whatever they had is done and over,” Dean replied. “That ended the moment he used Rosalie as leverage to try and kill Zack Morris.”

“Sure,” Lucifer said sarcastically. “That was _totally _what I saw this morning when she went out to get breakfast.”

How’d he know that? Dean didn’t want to show his hand by asking. Lucifer seemed to read his face. “Yeah, I’ve been tailing her. Duh.” He shook his head. “She went out and took longer than she should’ve, didn’t she? Stop and think about it.”

Dean hadn’t really paid attention at the time, but she kinda had. “So what?”

Lucifer gave him a sympathetic look. “Sure you don’t want that drink now?”

“You honestly trying to tell me Faith went and hooked up with the dude who murdered her in between an omelet run?” He snickered. “Nice try. You really are a virgin if you think it happens that fast.”

Lucifer winced. “Not then. _Now_. Did she tell you where she was going?”

She hadn’t. Dean cursed himself for not firing right back. She had been vague, but that could be literally anything with her.

“I get it,” Lucifer said. “I do. She’s hot. Her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. I was jealous she let you have a sip, but you and I got too much history to have you be played like this. _I _wanted to beat you, not some British douchebag. But it kinda makes sense in a Dad sorta way—he always had a thing for the tragic romance trope.”

“Bullshit,” Dean snapped, but he heard a lack of venom that the devil immediately pounced on.

“Really? You and I have known her for a hot minute. This Wes was her _watcher_. You _know_ how deep them bonds run. Then you add in the whole part where she tortured him when she’s broken and dark and he kills her when he’s all broken and dark…you know, like lovers do. Now he pops up and she goes sneaking off to see him. Bet they think they can keep the secret romance quiet until everyone’s ready to forgive and forget.” He tilted his head and stared Dean down. “How long does that take you guys? A few months? A year? I don’t get how you humans let go of the grudges. Guess _love_ really is a powerful thing.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Prove it. Has Faith professed her undying love, Dean? In two weeks, has she suddenly given up on a relationship years in the making? Do you really think you’re the best she’s ever had?”

Dean’s head was spinning. He _knew_ this had all the signs of being nothing but a head game, but dammit if the devil hadn’t made him doubt himself. “Get out.”

“Fine,” Lucifer said with a shrug. “No skin off my back if you keep pining. I, on the other hand, am cutting my losses and moving on. There’s plenty of fishes in the sea and I just started taking swimming lessons.” Lucifer slid off the stool. “Oh, but I’d recommend detailing your car when she gets back. Might be a little _sticky_ in the backseat, if you know what I mean.”

Dean swore his heart stopped. “Say what?”

“That’s right,” Lucifer said, holding up his hand. “Forgot you don’t get to see the action. Let me tune you into the live show in progress.” And he snapped his fingers.

In an instant, Dean was no longer in Rosa Lee’s, but in the driver seat of the Impala with Lucifer riding shotgun. Before he could comment, a low moan sounded in the backseat and Dean whipped around.

Faith had Wes pinned down on the seat and was riding his cock with a pace Dean knew all too well. One hand was on the man’s chest as the other cupped her own breast through the fabric of her shirt. “That’s it,” she gasped as the pace quickened.

“Fuck, Faith,” Wes muttered as he looked up at her with adoring eyes. “Faith, I love you.”

“Yes!” she cried out as she began to tremble. “I love you, too!”

Dean thought death had been easier than watching this—_hearing _this.

“Ugh,” Lucifer huffed and snapped his fingers once more.

Opening his eyes, Dean notes they were right back in Rosa Lee’s. His brain had officially hit overload.

“Yeah,” the devil said with a shudder. “That was just gross. Didn’t know they were already hitting the finale.” He made a noise of disgust. “Now I’m gonna go wash my eyeballs.” As he turned to the door, he gave Dean one last look. “Remember—clean the car.”

As soon as Lucifer closed the front door behind him the music started once again and Dean assumes that Nick was back from whatever “nap” he been hit with.

Bolting for the door, Dean meant to find Lucifer and demand more information—demand he take him back to the car and let him confront them good and proper. As he had predicted, the devil had vanished and Dean was left completely overwhelmed with a thousand painful emotions filling him all at once.

Instead of breaking down, he took off walking toward the bunker. Dean Winchester might’ve just been fucking played, but he wasn’t gonna play about getting fucked.


	84. Chapter 84

Faith wasn’t a plan kinda girl. At all. But after she’d talked with Wes that morning, after she’d realized just how far in it she was with Dean, the wheels in her head had started to turn. Maybe it helped that he’d just pulled a big romantic night on her, which had given her a template. He’d taken some guesses at what she’d like, and been more right than wrong—though she wouldn’t have said so at the time. And as much as she was busting at the seams to share her epiphany with him, this seemed more significant than a whispered post-coital confession. Even if that was the way he’d first told her—seemed a bit lame to copy his move, and, moreover, Dean was a guy who deserved a big gesture.

Her gesture, she’d decided on the way back to the bunker, would be in the form of one of those dates he kept insisting they needed to go on more of. But not a hotel date and, as much fun as throwing dirt at him had been, not a case date, either. An actual, honest-to-Chuck night off where she dragged his ass out to do something fun.

Paintball, she’d decided as she’d killed Baby’s engine. Mix two of his favorite things together—shooting and being obnoxious. Only without the life-or-death stakes that typically accompanied his shootouts.

Followed by dinner somewhere—maybe that diner he’d taken her to for what he’d ended up calling their first date. If not there, then somewhere similar. Somewhere that sold pie by the slice. And for a moment, she debated whether that was the route to go—spelling out that she loved him in pie. But knowing him, he’d just start eating and miss that there was a message. No, she figured the actual delivery of the message was one of those things she’d have to woman-up and say to his face. But there should still be pie involved.

It wasn’t much, but given that Faith’s budget was, well, Dean’s budget at the moment, she didn’t feel comfortable spending more of his money like this. Especially since the big part of the big gesture had eaten into any funds she would have otherwise put toward a hotel.

Now, Faith pried open the waistline of her sweats to give her new ink a look. The creamy skin around the black was a little swollen, but her accelerated healing was doing its thing so that when it was time for the big reveal, it’d look like it’d been on there for at least a week.

Not that Dean would need more than the words, but for Faith, this was a Big Damn Deal. A huge, scary deal that pretty much revolutionized the way she’d thought her life would go. There hadn’t been much that she could say was permanent about anything that had come before or after—and nothing, really, that she’d _wanted _to be permanent, or worried about losing—until now.

Shortly after she’d gotten the anti-possession tattoo, Dean had asked her why it was her first. They’d been in his room, sweaty and panting and in the kind of good mood that could be achieved only by amazing sex.

“What kind of _bad girl _only has two tatts?” he’d asked, tracing the mark with his fingers. “Kinda surprised you ain’t inked all over.”

“Didn’t realize getting marked up with a pre-req to bein’ a bad girl. Already had the one on my arm and I'm pretty sure that time I killed a guy just ‘cause Wilkins told me to got me into the club.”

Dean had huffed and slapped her ass. “You know what I mean.”

She’d rolled her eyes, then turned over. It had been dark, as always in his room, but her heightened senses had her finding his gaze anyway. “Slayer’s life is short,” she’d replied. “Always figured I’d go out early, so I don’t get attached. Ain’t like nothing’s permanent in this stupid world anyway.” She’d paused. “Plus, I’m afraid of needles.”

He’d burst out laughing at that. “You’re afraid of _needles_? You?”

“Shut up.”

“Big bad Faith is scared of fucking needles.”

“Obviously, not so scared I can’t handle it,” she’d shot back, rolling over again to smack her own ass this time. “Got this without complaints, didn’t I? Stitched you up with fucking dental floss. My fears don’t get the best of me, Ducky.”

“I didn’t realize what a big thing that was for you. If I had, I woulda gotten you a cake.”

“Zip it.”

“Make me.”

So she’d pushed him back to the mattress and climbed up until she was straddling his face, and told him if he was going to run his mouth he might as well do something useful with it.

In truth, the needle thing was a hangover from before she’d been called. Both times Faith had found herself in a tattoo parlor now, she hadn’t so much as flinched as the artist got to work. There had been some nerves in getting into the chair—nerves that fucking pissed her off, considering all the times she’d been stabbed—but once the process started, she’d relaxed.

The nearest paintball place was about an hour out, with plenty of Dean-friendly diners along the highway. Faith made the paintball reservation for seven, then did the last thing on her to-do list—completed the final video message she intended to leave for Dean. In the event that she chickened out and couldn’t do more than show him the new ink, she wanted him to be able to at least hear her say the words once until she got comfortable with them.

She’d just finished up, left Dean's phone and keys on the map table, and was getting ready to head to Rosa Lee’s to steal Dean away for the night when the familiar pounding of heavy footsteps reached her ears, and her stomach dropped. She knew what Dean sounded like when he was pissed, which meant, of course, something had happened.

Faith turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Really, you dick? Now?”

Dean exploded into the room the next second, his eyes ablaze and his nostrils flared. He stared at her for a few seconds, chest heaving. And the longer he went without talking, the more her inner alarm bells sounded off.

“What’s happened?” Faith asked, climbing off the bed.

He didn’t respond, just fumed at her.

“Ducky, what—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t call me that.”

Well, now she definitely knew something was wrong. Faith’s heart stuttered. She swallowed and raised her hands. “All right. Not into cute barnyard animals right now. Fine. Just tell me what happened.”

Not once in the last two weeks had Dean looked at her the way he was now, and something inside her had started to crack, her blood running hot and her skin flushing. For the first time in years, she felt soft and vulnerable, easy to cut and easier to kill, and right or wrong, she resented the fuck out of it. Whatever had crawled up his ass she could deal with, she could, but this kind of open hostility was something beyond anything that had come before.

“Is it true?” Dean ground out at last.

What the fuck was he talking about?

“That you’re off the fucking handle? Yeah, looks like.”

“You went to him.”

“Went to fucking who?” Faith shot back, anger and frustration shoving the scared sensation to the back of her mind and taking control, thank fuck. “I’ve been sitting here since I got back, you dumbass. Was just about to head to the bar to pick you up.”

“Got back from _him_?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Who the fuck is _him_?”

“Don’t give me that shit. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” Dean broke away then like he couldn’t look at her. “You saw him. Wes. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

At last, some clarity. Faith sighed, letting herself relax but not much. So she hadn’t told Dean about seeing Wes at the diner yet. That was supposed to be part of the big reveal that she loved his stupid ass. Run into your ex-whatever, have a heart-to-heart, realize your ass is in love with a stupid Winchester, make with the grand gesture. If she’d told Dean about Wes that morning, he’d have fired questions until she caved and told him the whole thing.

Which, granted, might not have been the worst tactic if this was how Dean was going to react to finding out she’d given the guy a hug.

“Yeah,” she said after a long beat. “I saw him. He was grabbin’ grub this morning. Wasn’t expectin’ to run into him or anything, but… We talked.”

“Uh huh. You talked.”

“Yes, dumbass, we talked. I hugged him. That was it.”

“Oh, hugs are what we’re calling it these days.”

God, the man made no sense. “What the fuck do you think?”

“I think you’re not the hugging kind, so don’t pull that bullshit on me.”

While that was true, it wasn’t like she’d never done it before. In fact, she’d given out more hugs in the last two weeks than she had in all the years preceding them. And Dean had been the primary recipient. “I’ve hugged you plenty.”

Dean cracked an unpleasant smile. “Ah, right, that’s it. Gotta buy the ticket to get the full ride.”

“What is up with you?” she shouted.

“When were you plannin’ on tellin’ me any of this, huh?” Dean shot back. “You run into the son of a bitch who got you killed, _hug it out_, and don’t even bother mentionin’ it when you get back? I asked how the drive was—think somethin’ mighta come up!”

Well, now she couldn’t stand still. Faith marched forward and gave him a shove—not at full strength, not even at a quarter, but enough that it rocked him on his heels a bit. “I was gonna tell you tonight, you ass! Had a plan and everything.”

“Oh, tonight,” he replied, not reacting to the shove at all. Like he hadn’t felt it. “I guess that’s somethin’. But call me sentimental, I thought you’d at least be able to keep it in your pants long enough to give me the kiss-off before taking his dick for a spin.”

“Really?” Faith stared at him, then choked a laugh—only she felt about as far from laughing as she ever had. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, but fuck him. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. “_Now _is when you decide to turn into this guy? You go from being hunky-dory with my past to thinkin’—”

“I turn into _this guy _when I learn the woman I—” He broke off, and at last, something that looked like actual-Dean pain flashed across his face. But it was gone in a blink, and he swallowed, gaining control again. “So is that how it worked, then? Guy kills you, you say you’re over it, then he shows up and that’s all it takes?”

“I swear, Ducky—”

“I said,” he snapped, glaring at her, “don’t fucking call me that. Just tell me the goddamned truth. Tell me you fucked him.”

Faith blanched. “Excuse me, what?”

“You fucked him, didn’t you? Ain’t a brainbuster.”

“What kind of bullshit question is that?”

“Just answer me.”

That he could even _ask _such a thing after last night—after these last two weeks—had the thing in her chest, the thing that had been so goddamned happy just ten minutes ago, screaming in pain. And not just any pain—the kind that cut to the bone, the kind that resonated through every inch of her body, made actually feel her soul because it was crying too. She didn’t know what sort of mental fucking gymnastics he’d had to go through in order to accuse her of something like this, but at the moment, she didn’t care. At the moment, he wasn’t the guy she knew. The guy she loved.

“Fuck the asswipe who got me killed after he tried to zap Ro of her slayer powers,” she said hoarsely, struggling to maintain control. “Yeah, Dean, I threw my panties at him. Turns out life-ending betrayal gets me hot. What the _fuck _do you think?”

“I think it’s fucking hilarious that you suddenly have standards.”

“Fuck you!”

“You wouldn’t have kept it from me if something hadn’t happened with Wes today.”

“Because you know me so well.”

“I thought I did.”

“Well, I did too. Guess we’re both suckers.” Faith pushed past him and into the hall. She wasn’t sure where she was going—she just knew she had to get away from him. Away from him, that room, the bunker, anything and everything associated with the name _Winchester. _Get her head in a better, clearer place before she tried to pick up the pieces of whatever had just shattered, because with as hot as she was right now, she’d end up doing something to hurt the motherfucker, and as good as it’d feel in the moment, she didn’t want to hurt Dean.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” Dean demanded, trailing after her.

Faith turned and spread her arms, not slowing down. “Why don’t you tell me? You know everything, don’t you?”

“We ain’t done here—”

“Oh, yes we are. I haven’t been this fucking mad since I hopped on the wagon and even though you deserve it, dick, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Too late.”

Faith shook her head, coming to a stop. “Naw, trust me, Dean. What you’ve seen has been me bein’ all restrained-like. I hit you now and every fucking bone would shatter. We’ll talk when I get back.”

“You walk outta here, don’t even bother comin’ back.”

Another one of those soul-crushing pains, but Faith shoved it to the back of her head. She needed a drink or twelve, needed to work through what the hell had just happened, and doing it while under fire wouldn’t do either of them any favors. Give him time to calm down, get ahead of this irrational paranoia, so they could talk like adults.

Adults who fucking loved each other.

She turned and started for the door again, and this time Dean didn’t follow her.

She had the thought of screaming her _I love you _before she slammed him inside the bunker, and for a moment thought she would. Just to hurt him—to make _this _the first memory he had of her saying that. To make him feel like the shit he’d made her feel.

But she didn’t. Despite everything, she didn’t want that. She wanted some space to clear up her head, figure out how or why Dean had jumped to the worst conclusion—had thought the worst of her. Thought her capable of doing something like that, fucking up what they had over motherfucking Wes.

It wasn’t until she was outside that she let herself cry.

*~*~*

The time was now.

It was just something she knew, something she accepted. A lot might have gone awry in Buffy’s life, but her instincts had always been spot-on. When Crowley left to tend to his King of Hell duties, or whatever they were, Buffy twisted her wrists in such a way that the bindings snicked open, and presto, she had her hands back. A quick tug at her legs rendered those manacles in pieces too—not the kind of break that could be disguised, which was good because she didn’t plan on getting back in those chains now or ever.

She had a demon to hunt.

As was the case with most demon assholes she’d come across, Crowley’s downfall was his pride. He underestimated everyone around him or became complacent with the status quo. By Buffy’s count, the time she’d spent in Hell had already stretched past the year-mark. The last time she’d suffered through one of his soul extraction exercises had been at least three months ago, and every interaction between then and now had more or less been amicable. Crowley coming in and saying something asinine like, “Honey, I’m home,” rant about whatever miscreant was acting up in Hell that day, and throw in a good amount of bitching about the Winchesters, who seemed to have stopped calling him altogether. Based on the few remarks she’d heard in passing, Buffy tended to believe that the time above was not the same as the time below, which jived with her understanding of hell dimensions. Angel had been in a hell dimension for four or five months her time, only it had been centuries his time. Then there had been that one jaunt with the demons in LA who kidnapped street kids, worked them hard for a hundred years, then sent them back into society at the end of their life when their use had dried up.

Each hell dimension was different. She gathered only a few days had passed topside for everyone else, while she’d been Crowley’s office decoration for a year.

Was time the same where Spike was? Or was it slower? How many years separated them by his count?

Well, Buffy was tired of waiting. She’d consigned herself to the fact that she’d have to camp out in Crowley’s office for a while—odds were on her side that Spike was headed her way—but she knew she couldn’t stay here indefinitely. She also knew she couldn’t take his crap anymore.

The months of observation, though, had not been without their virtues. The longer Crowley had kept her prisoner, the more comfortable he became letting her see things most prisoners never peeked. Like that the idiot kept a stack of freaking angel blades in the lower drawer of his desk. He confiscated them from demons he suspected of working for Lucifer and kept them in the same place. And sure, only Crowley had the key to his desk, but Buffy was thinking subtlety was for wimps.

Much like the manacles he hadn’t bothered to enchant, the desk drawer cracked and split with just a bit of force, spilling its contents onto the floor. Buffy gathered up as many as she could hold, then decided to relocate the rest. Whatever else, she wouldn’t become overconfident like her jailer.

Then she tore the desk apart in the search of the ring he’d taken off her finger at the start of this. She was certain he didn’t carry it with him, afraid that he might be summoned to the Winchesters’ and discovered with it on his person. The office was the best place to keep it.

But it wasn’t in his desk. Or what was left of his desk. He had a multitude of things in there—some of them obscene, most gross, all evil—but her ring was not among them. Buffy rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling, willing herself not to freak out. She had all the time she needed to get information out of him.

Then her gaze fell onto the ornate bookshelf he had shown her what seemed like forever ago, next to the orb that contained Angel’s soul. There was a box beside it that hadn’t been there before—a display case for something…

Yeah, there was her ring.

Buffy whooshed out a relieved sigh and started to negotiate her way across the room to retrieve it. She didn’t bother being delicate with the case, rather smashed it against the corner of the bookshelf to retrieve her ring and slide it back over her finger. And though she knew it was likely little more than a placebo, she could have sworn she felt stronger.

“Come and get me, asshole,” she whispered, then, for good measure, picked up the orb containing Angel’s soul and shoved it into her dress pocket.

Yeah, Crowley had put her in a dress. With pockets. When she’d asked, he’d shrugged and replied, “I’m a demon, love, not an imbecile.”

Well, that second thing was up for debate. Buffy headed back for the door, her supply of angel blades wedged tight between her hands. She could wait as long as it took for him to show up.

Thankfully, though, the wait was nothing at all.

The door swung open, catching on a bit of loose wood from the remains of the desk. “Honey, I’m…” Crowley stepped in, walking right past her, his jaw slack. He stood there for a moment, taking in the wreckage of the room, every line of his body rigid.

“Bugger,” he muttered at last. “All right. Well, she couldn’t have gone far.”

He turned around and caught her eye, almost had time to smirk before she smashed her foot into his chest and sent him flying across the room. A kick had never felt so good in her whole freaking life. And she was moving again, her aim still impeccable even after months of disuse. Crowley barely had time to crash against the opposing wall before an angel blade tore through the flesh and cartilage at his wrists, effectively nailing him in place.

Buffy kicked the door shut, and it was a good thing she did, for the howl he released could have been heard in every corner of Hell.

“You bloody little bitch!” he snarled, pulling ineffectively at his wrists. “I’ll bloody gut you for this.”

“Uh uh, Crowley,” Buffy replied, pulling out two more angel blades. “I think you’ll find it’s time we see what _your _insides look like.”

The dawning horror on his face was something she’d never forget.

Nor was the rush it gave her.

Time to unleash the inner monster.

*~*~*

Faith was all right for a while.

Okay, so that was a lie. She was a fucking wreck. But she’d managed to keep it under control. More or less. Hell, a few times, she thought she might have calmed down enough to actually go and try and talk to the assface known as her boyfriend. Or her ex-boyfriend.

An ex. That’s what he should be after today’s bullshit. Faith had let a lot of guys do a lot of shitty things to her, and she hadn’t given a damn because she _hadn’t given a damn_. What Dean had done today took whatever shit from her past and exploded it into a big ball of pain. Because even if she could understand why he was pissed that she hadn’t told him about that morning’s meeting with Wes, there was absolutely zero fucking excuse for him flying off the fucking rails like had. Accusing her of the things he’d accused her of. Not trusting her, not even asking. He hadn’t come in there looking for her to clear things up—he’d come in there to demand a confession for a crime he’d already decided she’d committed.

Dean was a fucked-up guy, there was no getting around that. Well-adjusted people didn’t go around chucking bottles of liquor at their girlfriend’s heads. But she’d never been regular or well-adjusted, and the red flag hadn’t fazed her. Hell, it still didn’t. Because that hadn’t been about her—none of their fights had been personal like this. And there had to be a reason, a tipping point, something that sent him over the edge beyond just learning that she’d run into a guy she’d banged once upon a time that morning.

It was seven o’clock when she decided she might try to make her way back to the bunker and see if Dean was willing to talk like a goddamned grownup. She’d been throwing back drinks fairly steadily but hadn’t let herself get drunk. She knew she needed her faculties for whatever conversation they’d have.

Then she’d gotten a call from the fucking paintball place asking about her reservation, saying they didn’t refund the deposit for no-shows, and that was when everything came crashing down around her. The night she’d planned, the fucking high she’d ridden after realizing she was in love with the jerk, the ink she’d gotten…

If it were anyone but Dean, she would’ve hit the road hours ago and never looked back. But it was Dean. It was _Ducky_. And fuck her, she loved him. Every instinct in her body had her revving to run hard and fast and put this bullshit behind her. Cave into the pain and fear the way she had so many times in her past, do the easy thing. But Faith didn’t want to be that person. _Dean_, when he was Dean, made her want to be better. Made her want, _period_. And she couldn’t stomach the thought of just lighting out without giving it a goddamned try.

She was on her way to being well and truly toasted—growling at the increasingly concerned looks Nick kept throwing her—when some fungus demon got on the stage and belted out the lyrics to a song by Pink. And even though the bitch couldn’t carry a tune for shit, Faith found herself getting close to an emotional breaking point at the song’s concluding lyrics.

> _Could you? (Will you catch me when I fall?)_
> 
> _Could you? (And we rise above it all)_
> 
> _Could you? (Will you hold me when it hurts?)_
> 
> _Like it's the end of the world?_
> 
> _Could you? Could you? Could you? Could you?_

God, she’d never felt so much like a fucking girl in her life. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes—Nick looked downright panicked now—and drew Buffy’s phone from her pocket. The one she’d flashed Dean that morning for an atta-girl before taking off. She did a search for the song based on the lyrics, came across a YouTube link, copied and pasted the link into a fresh text to Dean, and hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

She waited. And waited. And waited some more. Nothing.

And the longer there was nothing, the more agitated she became.

Faith: _Y do you evn care abt me steeling ur phone if ur not gonna ansr?_

She hit send again. Waited again. Got nothing again.

Faith: _Do u even look at tihs ting? If u did u’d see ur an ass._

Send. Wait. Nothing. This silence from Dean hurt deeper than any pain she could remember experiencing. The knife Buffy had shoved in her gut. Begging Angel to kill her. Realizing that Wes had betrayed Rosalie. Willow shooting her through a fucking bus.

This. This was the pain that would kill her.

So she kept drinking, hoping to dull it. And kept drinking. And kept drinking. But no matter how much alcohol she poured down her throat, it was still there. Throbbing. Waiting. Mocking her for letting herself get to this place, for being stupid enough to think that girls like Faith Lehane got their happily ever afters. Got anything that anyone could call good.

“Faith.” This wasn’t Nick. It was Sam. She blinked up at him, willing his hulking figure to focus. “Faith, you look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“Is everything…” He lowered his voice. “Did you and Dean have a fight?”

“Dean’s an asshole.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth kicked up. “Yeah. I know. But if you had a fight, you should talk about it.”

“Thought so. Asshole.” Faith dragged a hand through her hair and stumbled off her stool. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do until she crashed her way through the crowd of demons waiting for their turn at the mic.

She didn’t want to be sad. She wanted to be angry.

“Faith, love,” Nick said, running over to her. “What—”

She shoved an album at him. “Put it on.”

“Faith—”

“Just fucking do it, Nicky. God.”

Either she looked worse than Sam had indicated, Nick was afraid for his life, or both, because the next thing she knew, he’d cued up the song she’d selected and ushered her to the microphone.

The somber music led her in, and then she heard herself singing.

_“Oh no. Your love just leaves you bruised. If you wanna know…you find something to lose.”_ Faith dragged her hand through her hair. _“The world won’t turn until something breaks. Who will make the first last mistake? You say that good things come to those who…wait.”_ She swallowed. _“Into the spiral… Your world and my world… It’s never final. Love just leaves you bruised.”_

She glanced at the bar, where Sam, Dawn, Rose, and Nick—who looked downright terrified now—were staring at her. Ro had her phone out, apparently recording the thing.

Yeah, sure. Faith was humiliating her ass. Might as well document it. Wasn’t like she had anything left to lose.

_“I went because you said you’d be there. A box of candy, smoke in your hair. And I didn’t know. I didn’t care. But now I know. But now I know. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Ba ba ba ba. Love just leaves you bruised.”_

She swayed a bit for the instrumental break before coming back in. _“Oh no. Did love just leave you screwed? You got to go slow… ‘Cause love just leaves you bruised. Into the spiral… Your world and my world… It's never final, love just leaves you bruised.”_

Faith glared at the sea of unremarkable faces staring back at her. Demons and vamps and ghouls and a bunch of assholes she didn’t care about, watching her as she broke. _“I went because you said you'd be there.” _And hadn’t he? Hadn’t he implied that she wouldn’t be alone in this? That they’d do this love thing together?_ “A box of candy, smoke in your hair. When I didn't know, I didn't care. But now I know. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Now I know. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Ba ba ba ba. Love just leaves you bruised.” _She closed her eyes, fighting to maintain control. _“And I've got the scars to prove it.”_

Another instrumental break. _“I went because you said you were there. A box of candy, smoke in your hair. Explain it to me again and again, like I care._ _Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa. Like I care!” _This she shouted. _“Love just leaves you… The world won't turn until something breaks. Who will make the first last mistake? Good things come to those who wait. Well, I can't wait!”_ She shouted this too. _“I went because you said you'd be there. A box of candy, smoke in your hair. I didn't know, I didn't care. Now I know. Ba ba ba ba baaaaaa.”_

The music died abruptly, and her ears filled with the sound of applause from a confused audience. It was only then Faith realized her skin was feverish and the room was spinning. She stumbled over in her effort to get off the stage, and crashed directly into Rosalie, who wrapped an arm around her and began moving to the back.

“I got it,” she heard the girl say. “No, you stay there.”

The last thing she heard was Sam’s voice, low but not so low it didn’t carry. “Dean? Dude, call me back as soon as you get this. I dunno what happened, but Faith is fucked up.”


	85. Chapter 85

Dean wanted to hit something—he wanted to _break _something. Or someone. Or both.

First, he wanted to numb the pain. Somehow it felt worse than anything he’d ever felt. Worse than those years on the rack. Maybe it was because his heart was being ripped out from the inside. Maybe because the pain was _now_.

He knew there wasn’t anything strong enough in his room so he tore into the hall to make his search. Sammy’s room was a bust after he gave it a thorough toss, as well was Dawn’s. Remembering Spike with a pang of regret for his part in the vampire’s nightmare, he went down to the room he and Buffy had moved into months ago.

Dean wasn’t disappointed when he found a few bottles stashed about the room. Selecting a nearly full fifth of Jameson, he sat down and chugged the contents. He swallowed shot after shot until he gagged and nearly threw up. Then he sat there gasping for air until he could repeat the process.

This wasn’t right—Buffy and Spike should _be _here. Buffy had sacrificed herself for the world, but she was supposed to be back already. And all Spike had done was love her. Loved her enough to risk himself to bring her back. They didn’t need to be in Hell. They needed to be _here_.

Dean determined that the booze wasn’t working fast enough. His pain about Faith was being compounded now—he’d thought he and Faith had had a shot at the kinda real, pure love Spike and Buffy shared. It was a love Dean had never seen—the whole mate kind of bond. And while Dean knew it wasn’t possible, he _wanted _it. For a minute, he’d even tricked himself into think there was a human version and he was living it. He’d fallen so hard, so fast and so completely.

He scrambled to the infirmary down behind the main stairs, ignoring the way his head had already started swimming. He knew where the painkillers were stashed—a various assortment collected over the years when he or Sam had ventured to a real doctor for their injuries. He always ended up eating most of his, but Sammy argued he didn’t like the way they made him feel. Dean did—and he found the strongest prescription and chewed down a handful, then washed it down with some more Jameson.

He was stumbling now, but made his way into the main room and broke. There on the map table laid the keys to Baby—Faith had left them there with his phone. Something about that image hurt him deeper than the words of their breakup. It made it real.

“_SON OF A BITCH!_” he screamed to the empty room. His throat was raw, but he threw the bottle with all his might and watched it shatter as it hit a cement pillar.

“Dean?” There was a fury of footsteps and then Giles was running into the room. “My _god_,” he gasped for breath as he stopped. “What’s happened?”

Dean blinked slowly as his mind processed the question until he finally turned to the man and released a humorless chuckle. “What happened is I’m a fucking dumbass.”

Giles narrowed his gaze and took a step forward. “You’re drunk.”

Dean scoffed and gestured toward the shattered glass upon the floor. “Just until the pills kick in—then I’m high.”

“Okay,” Giles said slowly, almost approaching Dean like some wildlife expert on TV coming up on a dangerous predator. Dean kinda liked it. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing much,” Dean snapped. “Just found out Faith’s been fucking Wes—as in _today_—in my fucking _car_.”

Giles stopped and looked at him in total bewilderment. “No.”

“If she hadn’t just fucking _confirmed _it, I still saw it with my own eyes!”

Giles shook his head and removed his glasses. “Where? Where were they when you caught them?”

Dean blinked. “The backseat.”

“I mean _where _were they parked? Here?”

“I don’t know,” Dean growled. “Probably somewhere remote where we wouldn’t find out. Didn’t want me or Sabrina or Lucifer finding out, did they? Then it’d spoil the con.” Dean snickered bitterly. “Joke’s on them that Lucifer caught ‘em anyways. He played all sympathetic about showing it to me, but I know the fucker enjoyed it. Hell, he might still go after her some more just to give ole Wes some grief—Lucy didn’t seem to like the little cocksucker.”

“You got your intel from the Prince of Lies? Son, are you sure—“

“Asked her point-blank and she didn’t deny it, G. First tried some bullshit story about hugging him the morning—like, when does Faith fucking _hug_—then tried to blow it off like it wasn’t a big deal.” His voice cracked. “She said she _loved_ him, Giles.” He felt the tears in his eyes but didn’t care. “You know I’ve been telling her that for days and she ain’t said it fucking _once_? Fed me some line about how she’d never felt so close to it with anyone before. Maybe she did or maybe I just pushed her to figure it out. She could love—just not me.”

“Dean,” Giles said, thick with emotion, “I really think we should talk this all out. Get Faith and—”

“_No_,” Dean growled. “Sitting around and talking hasn’t gotten us a fucking thing and I’m done. I’m ending all this shit once and for all.” With a new resolve as to what he needed to do, he swiped the phone from the table and slipped it in his pocket and then picked up the keys.

“I adamantly refuse to let you leave here driving in your condition,” Giles snapped.

Dean spun to face him with a cocky smile. “You can’t stop me, old man. I’m half-ass startin’ to like you, so save yourself the trouble.”

“What can you possibly do right now? Kill Wes? Take a swing at Faith?”

“Get Spike and Buffy back.”

“What?” Giles balked.

“If Crowley won’t bring ‘em back, I know who can. And maybe it all works out best this way—Buffy and Spike get to have their shot at love and…” A small sob escaped him, but he cleared his throat and continued. “And I won’t be here to fuck up things—for Sammy or for Mom or for _her_ and Wes.” He nodded his confidence in his decision now. “Lucifer will do it.”

“Lucifer? _Lucifer_? You plan on dealing with the devil? And how? Give him Faith?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t have Faith to give.” He shuddered. “No. I’m gonna give him what he’s always wanted—me.”

Giles rushes forward and made to grab him. “Like bloody hell you will!”

Dean cold-cocked the guy and sent him straight to the floor with one shot. “I warned ya, Pops,” he said as he stared down at Giles’ unconscious body. Then he headed off to the garage to get shit done.

*~*~*

Faith wasn’t making any damn sense as she tried to explain things to Sam in a slurred mess of sobs. He’d sent Rosalie away in hopes of calming her down, but it hadn’t worked so far.

“Why now, Sammy?” she croaked. “Why _now _after everything he told me?”

Sam didn’t know because he didn’t know what happened. “Tell me again. Did you say you slept with Wes?”

“Fuck you!” Faith howled, shoving out with enough force to make him stumble backward.

“Sorry!” He balanced himself. “What _did _you say?”

“_He_ said I did! Fucker jumped right in like he _knew_ I did it—didn’t even let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Sam thought maybe he needed a drink just to get through the interview.

“I _hugged_ him—whatever he says, I can fucking _hug_. I’ve _hugged _before. I know how to fucking _hug_. I can hug the shit out of people! I’m a fucking hugging _machine_, goddammit!” Faith demonstrated this by lunging at Sam and wrapping him in a bear hug that started to hurt. “See me hug like a fucking professional hugger?”

“Okay,” Sam grunted as he wiggled until she released him. “Got the picture on the hugging. Kinda vague on the rest.”

“Your asshole brother says I…” She shook her head angrily. “He fucking told me he didn’t care about my past. The bad I done—_who’d _I done. And I believed him. I _believed _him, Sammy.”

Sam was more confused than ever. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. His brother was insecure and hot-tempered and judgmental, but he wasn’t _stupid_. And looking at Faith right now and thinking there was any chance this woman would cheat on Dean was just plain dumb. “Look,” Sam said at last, “why don’t you and I go to the bunker and kick my brother’s ass? Maybe between the two of us we can finally make some sense stick in his dumbass brain.”

She sniffed hard, but her crying stopped. “You’d beat Dean up with me?”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Let’s go home and fix all this, okay?”

Faith nodded just as his cellphone rang. Sam hoped it was Dean and they could get all the miscommunication settled, but looked in disappointment to see it was only Giles. “Hey,” he said answering. “Now’s not a good time. Can I call you in a few?”

“Samuel,” Giles groaned. “Listen to me closely—Dean is off to make a deal with Lucifer.”

“What did he say?” Faith had obviously used her slayer-enhanced hearing.

“He plans to trade himself for Buffy and Spike.”

Sam’s mind raced erratically. “What does that mean?”

“He’s drunk. And _high_. I don’t bloody well know. He knocked me out before I could get clarification.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam gasped. Now he had to find him. Now he was stupid.

But before he could formulate a plan, Faith was stumbling past him and tearing off toward the door. “_Fuck!_” he shouted as he raced off to try and catch her.

This was bad. This was very bad.

*~*~*

If Dean was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right.

He had always vowed that he’d leave this world for the last time in a blaze of glory—and Billie had warned him he was out of free passes.

Before he took of,f he had found his Bon Jovi tape and popped it in. He knew exactly how long to key up the cassette and turned the speakers up full volume when his song came on. Letting the intro play in, he tried to calm the nerves that began to rise inside his chest. He knew this was crazy, but he was a few miles past rational at this point.

_“I wake up in the morning and I raise my weary head,”_ he sang along. _“I've got an old coat for a pillow and the earth was last night's bed. I don't know where I'm going. Only God knows where I've been. I'm a devil on the run—a six gun lover—a candle in the wind.”_

He and Bon Jovi were in agreement—he didn’t know where he was going, but somehow the cemetery seemed the fitting choice. His story with Faith had begun in one as had so many of his biggest life moments—Sammy’s showdown with Lucifer as well as Dad and the end of Yellow Eyes. He swerved on toward his final destination.

_“When you're brought into this world, they say you're born in sin. Well at least they gave me something, I didn't have to steal or have to win. Well they tell me that I'm wanted—Yeah, I'm a wanted man. I'm a colt in your stable. I'm what_ Cain _was to Abel,”_ he said with bitter emphasis Bon Jovi had no fucking clue about. _“Mister catch me if you can. I'm going out in a blaze of glory. Take me now but know the truth. I'm going out in a blaze of glory. Lord I never drew first but I drew first blood. I'm no one's son. Call me young gun.”_

Well, he had to admit there was a small degree of solace in knowing he was going out on his own terms—this wasn’t some cosmic plan or curse controlling his actions. Nobody was pulling his strings now—not Michael or Chuck or the Mark or even fucking Faith.

_“You ask about my conscience and I offer you my soul. You ask if I'll grow to be a wise man. Well, I ask if I'll grow old.”_ He knew the answer now. _“You ask me if I've known love and what it's like to sing songs in the rain. Well, I've seen love come and I've seen it shot down. I've seen it die in vain.”_ He was crying now, hot tears blinding his already blurry eyes from the road. He felt the car veer off the road and likely overcompensated, grateful for a lack of oncoming traffic that could kill him before he made it to the cemetery.

_“Shot down in a blaze of glory,”_ he sang. _“Take me now but know the truth. 'Cause I'm going down in a blaze of glory. Lord I never drew first but I drew first blood. I'm the devil's son—call me young gun.”_

He almost missed the turn, but squealed the tires hard and made it without losing control. Now he began to question if he could get Lucifer and the witch to even show. Without them coming to deal, this was a wasted trip. He sang the next part as a prayer directly to Chuck—it was as much as he wanted to say to the guy at this point.

_“Each night I go to bed, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. No I ain't looking for forgiveness but before I'm six foot deep, Lord, I got to ask a favor and hope you'll understand. 'Cause I've lived life to the fullest, let this boy die like a man. Staring down a bullet, let me make my final stand.”_

After pulling into the cemetery, he drove until he ended up crashing into a headstone. When the car stopped moving, he belted out the final chorus with every fiber of his soul.

_“Shot down in a blaze of glory. Take me now but know the truth. I'm going out in a blaze of glory. _ _Lord I never drew first but I drew first blood. And I'm no one's son—call me young gun—I'm a young gun. Young gun, yeah yeah yeah, young gun.”_

He didn’t turn off the car until the final note. Then, he opened the door and tumbled out onto the ground. Working harder than he knew he should, he scrambled to get upright and braced himself on Baby’s hood. “You got me, girl,” he murmured affectionately as he patted the metal. “You’ve been the only one who never hurt me—never left me. You been there for me since the day as I was born.” He sniffed. “Sorry you gotta watch this, but I think it’s fitting you’re here in the end. Love you, Baby. And you take care of Sammy for the both of us.”

With a shuddering breath, he turned to look toward the darkness and cleared his throat. “Lucifer! Willow! Come and get me, you sorry sons of bitches!” he yelled. “Dean Winchester’s down in Georgia and he’s willing to make a deal!”

He was met with silence. He stepped away from the car with wobbly legs—the pills had taken effect now and, man, was he feeling it. “Come on!” he shouted into the night. “Y’all know Sam Seaborn and Oz are coming to Kansas? Fuck, they’re probably here. Come on, Willow! Tell me that don’t make you wanna come out and find out what we plan to do with your baby!”

There was a crack in the air and suddenly Willow was standing about ten feet before him. A giddy rush of excitement filled him to know they’d heard him—it’d worked. “How dare you mention my son,” Willow said in a dangerous voice and raised her hands that sparked with untold magical powers.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” came a voice Dean recognized. “Let’s try to switch it up—ask questions and shoot later.” Then Lucifer stepped from the shadows and into the headlight beam.

“My son—”

“Isn’t in danger from the Winchesters,” Lucifer said dismissively. “They aren’t the baby sacrificing type. They save it for themselves.” He looked to Dean. “That’s what this is? Your poor little heart got broken and now you want me to take all your pathetic pain away?” He snickered. “Low. Even for you, buddy.”

“I wanna offer a trade—fair and simple. Spike and Buffy—soul and all—for me.”

“You?” Lucifer said incredulously. “I could kill you now and be done with it.” He brought up his hand and looked moments away from snapping his fingers.

“You can torture me,” Dean said in a rush. “Steal my soul—sell it or use it or just rip it apart. Pretty sure it’s got enough cred to be worth something. You want possession? Fuck, I can give you that.” Though deep down he was betting the devil knew that was a bluff. Dean wouldn’t do that even for his vampire friends. “Just pull Buffy and Spike back from Hell.”

“Buffy and Spike are in Hell?” Willow questioned with the kinda shock Dean just didn’t think the girl could fake.

“Interesting,” Lucifer said, taking a step forward, stroking his chin as he examined Dean.

Dean hated the smarmy gleam in the devil’s eye so he turned to the witch instead. “Buffy went to Hell to close the Hellmouth—you fucking opened—and Spike went to get her back. They’ve been gone for days and neither one deserves it. They deserve their love right here on this godforsaken plane.”

“It opened—I opened…” Willow shook her head and Dean saw the tears well up in her eyes. “But I was told that spell would _lock_ it forever.”

“By _him_!” Dean growled. “For fuck’s sake, Red, he’s the goddamn _devil_. His fucking superpower is lying and manipulating. He can literally warp your head to make you see whatever you wanna fucking see!”

And then a thought hit him so hard in the chest that he stumbled back and his knees nearly buckled. “Or what you don’t want to see,” he whispered to himself before looking up at Lucifer in horror.

And he figured it out as he processed the wide toothy grin on the devil’s face—he’d been fucking played. Not by Faith, who had been outraged and hurt that he’d accused her of cheating on him. Not by the woman who had told him she’d ran into Wes and had a Kum By Ya hug and let go over the bitterness of getting killed in a dude’s fucked up revenge plot. Not by his kitty who had told him she was waiting until tonight to tell him her big forgiveness story.

He’d fucking been fucked by Lucifer himself. “You—”

The devil burst out laughing. “You spoiled my big reveal, but damn if the look on your face ain’t worth it, Winchester. Was the ‘I love you’ too much? I really wasn’t sure how far to take it, but dammit, you started tearing up and it just seemed so…_perfect_.”

Fuck. He was in a trap now and he didn’t know how he’d escape. Panic filled him as he took a step back, but his body was too fucked up on booze and pills to correctly function and he crashed to his knees.

“Dean?” Willow asked in a broken sob. “He’s not Michael?”

“Hey!” Lucifer snapped. “Don’t listen to him! He’s the bad guy!”

Maybe this was it—what his blaze of glory was all about. If he couldn’t get Buffy and Spike home, maybe he could die bringing Willow back into the light. “Willow, I swear to you on my mother’s soul—on your _son’s _soul—he’s Lucifer. Please, god, believe me. And tell Faith—”

But he never got to finish. Something hard and painful slammed his body so hard he went flying. When he smashed against a solid surface he swore every bone broke. He lay there in pain as he noted he wasn’t feeling the earthy soil of the cemetery—it was smooth and cold. Unable to comprehend, his brain turned off and he slipped away from reality.

*~*~*

Sam was out of breath as he chased her—even drunk, she was still faster than most humans. Truth be told, he didn’t know what he could do when he caught her. He’d learned a lot about slayers over the past few months, but hadn’t been taught the procedure for subduing a crazed drunk one. After this was all over, he and Giles were going to have to work up a contingency plan.

He noted they were now running more toward the cemetery than the bunker. Sam really hoped it wasn’t an active night for the demon and vampire population—they were pretty full up on shit to deal with at the moment. “Fuck,” he muttered before shouting her name once more in vain.

A pair of headlights up ahead caught his attention and he saw Faith slow down enough that he took advantage. Lunging for her, he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her to the ground.

“Sammy!” she growled as she quickly punched and kicked herself away from him. “Bad Sammy! No hugs!” Faith cried as she scrambled to her feet.

Sam reached out and used her for leverage as he pulled himself upright. Then he froze.

Dean was on his knees facing a man—a man that Sam recognized from behind. His pulse raced so hard he could barely hear Faith’s strangled cry as she took off toward the scene. And Sam wasn’t stopping her anymore—he was struggling to overtake her and get there first. “_Dean!_” he roared.

Something happened—something Sam couldn’t process. Dean was there and when Sam blinked next he was gone. Just gone. He hadn’t exploded or dusted or anything dramatic to Lucifer’s liking. He was just…gone.

Faith kept blindly charging forward until she barreled right into the devil—taking him to the ground with a tackle that had to hurt. Then she was screaming things that made no sense, kicking and punching and—Sam almost swore he saw her just bite the fucking devil—and pretty much losing her goddamn mind.

Then Willow was rushing over and Sam’s instinct was to jump in between Faith and the witch. He wouldn’t let Willow hurt Faith at her most vulnerable. He didn’t want to, but he’d kill Willow if it came down to it.

“He’s Lucifer,” she said in a hollow voice.

Sam had an unexpected rush of relief hit him at the strangest possible time. Dean has done it. God fucking damn, his brother had finally done what none of them had been able to do—he’d got through to Willow. “Yes,” Sam choked out. “Yes.”

“Bring him back!” Faith roared as her violence grew in intensity. Sam began to fear the devil was about to lose his patience on Faith and she was gonna get hurt. Edging forward, he tried to get his grip on her enough to pull her back.

“Fuck this!” Lucifer snapped and Sam braced for the worst—a snap of his fingers or a burst of energy that would send Faith flying off into a headstone. Instead, the devil just vanished, leaving the Slayer attacking nothing but air.

For several seconds, the cemetery was filled with nothing more than the harsh breaths coming from the three left in the aftermath. Then, slowly Faith crawled to her feet—she gave Sam a long, terrified and shell-shocked look that he knew he mirrored. At that moment he’d never felt closer to her—any doubt he might have had that Faith loved Dean was all but erased. They shared that in an unspoken bond.

He watched Faith’s eyes darken and knew where her mind was going—knew she was looking for a new source to blame. They shared one last look before she tore her gaze away and turned to Willow. “You fucking cunt,” Faith said marching forward. “Bring him back.”

“Faith—” Willow looked moments away from a full-on breakdown.

“You bring my D—” Faith stopped and covered her mouth as a sob escaped. “You bring Dean back. _Now_!”

Sam contemplated for a vengeful moment letting Faith have her way with the witch—God knew she had a lot of blame in this whole mess. But logic told him that they needed Willow to find Dean.

And they would find him. Because Sam would not accept he was dead until he saw the body for himself.


	86. Chapter 86

Willow couldn’t feel her hands. Or her legs. Or her face. Or, well, anything.

Instead, she stared at the place where Dean Winchester had been just a moment ago when that awful clarity had come across his drunken face. In the way he’d looked at her, pleaded with her, to believe him as he reiterated the same thing everyone she knew had been trying to tell her for weeks.

That the guy she was with wasn’t Michael. He was Lucifer. As in the devil.

And she’d helped him open the Hellmouth.

_Oh god. Oh god._

“Sammy, get the fuck outta my way,” Faith was screaming, trying to dodge around the tall guy—Sam, Winchester, the brother—who now stood in front of Willow, doing what he could to keep the grief-stricken slayer from doing any damage. It was a fool’s errand, Willow knew. As mad as Faith was, she was likely to punch the guy out once the game of keep-away pushed her too far.

“Faith. Faith! Stop!” Sam then did something that was either very brave or very foolish. He grabbed Faith by the shoulders and gave her a good shake. “Faith, I love Dean, too. And yeah, I want the bitch to hurt. But if he’s still alive, she might be the only way to get him back. Do you understand?”

By the look in Faith’s eyes, the only thing she understood was that punching a certain redhead would make her feel a whole lot better. Willow wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Faith in such a state—not even at her craziest or evilest, and certainly not over a guy.

Faith was in love with Dean Winchester.

And…

“Oh god.” Willow dug her teeth into her fist, unable to keep the tears at bay now. Faith was in love with Dean and Willow had just pulled a Glory on her. “Faith, I’m so—”

“You tell me you’re sorry, Red, and I will knock your fucking teeth out,” Faith snarled, still trying to get around Sam. “Do you have any idea what you just did? _Any_?”

“I do.” Willow choked the words, trembling. “I do…and I deserve… God…” She shook her head. “Faith, I swear, if he’s alive, I will help you get him back. I’m still a bit lost on what happened, but—”

But that was a lie. A lie she’d give anything to be true. Because she knew exactly what had happened. Dean had told her, screamed it at her.

“_For fuck’s sake, Red, he’s the goddamn_ devil. _His fucking superpower is lying and manipulating. He can literally warp your head to make you see whatever you wanna fucking see.”_

And that was what he’d done. Lied. Manipulated. Shown her what she wanted to see, what she wanted more than anything in the world, and used that want to send her best friend to Hell. To send Spike to Hell. And now this man she didn’t know, but who Faith loved, was suffering as a result.

“You better hope so,” Faith said, her face a mask of tears. At last, she succeeded in getting around Sam, and she wasted no time grabbing Willow by the front of her shirt. “Because I will fucking bury you. Do you understand? I will bury you.”

If there was one thing Willow didn’t need to be told, it was Faith’s penchant for violence. She could throw all the magic in the world she wanted at the Slayer, but short of killing her, there was nothing she could do to keep Faith at bay. Willow nodded and looked to Sam. “Your brother,” she said, her voice hoarse. “He’s your brother.”

The look Sam gave her could have leveled mountains. “Yeah,” he replied. “And you’re gonna get him back for me.” He paused, glanced at Faith. “For us.”

Willow nodded. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she blurted, “I thought I was making up for it. For everything I’d done. I thought… He told me God had chosen me to help put things right. He stopped me from…” She turned her gaze away, not wanting to say it—not wanting to admit how weak she’d been in that moment. How death had seemed the best way out. Then she’d been tossed a lifeline, a reason to keep moving. A way she could atone for the sins of the past and possibly make things right again. It had been just what she needed to hear, the thing that kept her tethered to this world beyond her son. Beyond Sam. Beyond the promise of healing Tara.

“Well, you can start by helping us now,” Sam said. “Okay?”

Willow nodded again, though she barely felt it. The full weight of what she’d done had yet to crash. For the past couple of weeks, Willow had imagined her life as a set of giant cosmic scales, balancing the good and the bad. The bad had nearly caused the scales to topple over, but the small deeds she’d done to correct it had the balance, in her mind, evening out. Yes, she’d tried to destroy the world once, but she was making up for it by saving it now. And if she could rescue Tara from her fate, then all the better. There was blood on her hands, a lot of it, and she felt each life she’d taken, and nothing could bring them back but she could do _something _in their names.

Except now the scales had tipped over, and there was no chance of righting them again.

“Come on,” Sam said and nodded at the Impala. “Redheads in the back. Faith?”

Faith was staring at the car, her eyes swimming in tears. “He’s gone.”

Sam put an arm around her. “We’ll get him back. You and me, okay? I’ve gotten Dean out of worse.”

“He’s there because of me, Sam. He did this because of me.”

“No.” Sam took her shoulders and gave her a quick shake. “I don’t know what happened—I do know that you didn’t do anything. I know you love him and I know he loves you.”

Faith flinched, not meeting his eyes. “He did this morning.”

“I know. He told me.” Sam smiled, a soft, sad smile that Willow felt down to the bone. “Which is why I know whatever the hell happened between you two tonight was some big misunderstanding. Huge and probably stupid. It’s not the first time it’s happened and it won’t be the last. And if you want, we can still kick his ass together once we get him back, okay?”

Faith released a deep breath and nodded, then started for the car.

And a light bulb went on over Willow’s head. “It was Lucifer,” she said. “He was screaming at me one minute about Lucifer putting images in my head, seeing things I wanted to see. He was right. But he stopped halfway through and…” She felt her resolve, hard as it was, wither a bit under the look Faith gave her. “Then Lucifer started laughing and…saying things. I-I don’t know exactly what but it seemed like maybe Lucifer had shown Dean something that… Well, he seemed to change his mind about coming to us, but by that point…”

“By that point, it was too fucking late,” Faith deadpanned. She nodded again. “You better drive, Sammy,” she muttered, making her way to the passenger side. “Sobered up quite a bit on the run, but I don’t wanna risk the wheels for that.”

Sam barked a short, humorless laugh and opened the driver’s side door. “Not just anyone drives Baby, you know.”

Faith paused. “Oh, I know.”

“It’s just people he loves and trusts.”

“When did you become a fucking Hallmark card?”

“When I realized you love my brother as much as I do.”

Faith seemed to consider this, then shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I love him more,” she replied, then disappeared into the car without another word.

Willow had the good sense not to talk on the drive, her mind overflowing with too many things to keep up with. Sam released a small cry when Bon Jovi came in over the speakers, which had some significance he’d been reluctant to share, but Faith had stared at him long enough he’d caved and informed her which song Dean had been listening to before he’d arrived. Faith stiffened and gone quiet again, and Willow figured it was to keep her emotions in check.

If only it were that simple for her.

When they arrived at the bunker, they found the place bustling with activity. It wasn’t until she actually found herself in Sam Seaborn’s arms that everything else fell into place. Dean had said that Sam was traveling here with their son—and Harry was here, too, along with the others. And Sabrina Deanne, the MACUSA witch. What the hell?

But Willow couldn’t focus on that—on any of it. There was too much to work through and her tired brain wasn’t up for the task. Instead, she buckled and clung to Sam like he was the only thing tethering her to this earth anymore, not fully believing he was real but not wanting to chase the illusion away if he wasn’t.

“Willow?” He cupped her cheeks and forced her to meet his eyes. “Willow, honey, are you okay? I’ve been so worried.”

“Sam…” She pulled back and blinked up at his face. “Buffy is in Hell.”

Sam inhaled deeply, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer her, but he did. “I know.”

“I’ve been such an idiot,” Willow whispered.

And then, unable to keep it in a second longer, she burst into tears.

*~*~*

“I admit, this did not go the way I’d planned.”

The pounding in Dean’s head was warning enough that whatever awaited him when he opened his eyes would not be pleasant. He wasn’t in bed, for one thing. No comfy memory foam mattress, no pillows, no Faith to keep him warm. He was lying on what felt like a concrete floor, an awful taste in his mouth and the vague sensation of dread clenching his stomach.

“I mean, I like a good twist as much as the next guy,” the voice went on, and Dean felt his stomach pitch. He knew that voice. All too well.

“It was delicious. And easy. Did I mention easy?”

Dean cracked his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d gotten it in one—concrete floor. Make that a concrete room, gray and bland. There was nothing in it but a single chair, and in that chair was Lucifer, straddling it so he could rest his arms along the back. He offered his traditional impish grin when he saw Dean was awake and gave him a little finger wave.

“Easy, like I was saying,” Lucifer continued. “Are you really sure you love this chick? Because you were begging for a reason to see the worst in her, my friend. All I had to do was give the littlest, teeniest nudge. You did the rest.”

Oh god.

_Oh god._

Dean tried to keep his groan to himself, but he wasn’t successful. At once, the floodgates in his mind opened and every rotten memory from the last few hours landslided inward, so hard and heavy he thought he might suffocate.

Waking up and watching Faith move her cute ass around their room. Laughing at her. Teasing her. Stealing kisses before she’d taken off to get food. Chasing her to their room for some sexy aerobics after she’d sparred with Rosalie, before the littlest slayer had hit the books. Faith saying she had errands to run and she’d take the car, then meet him at the cantina. Lucifer showing up and…

And then pain. Pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Pain that redefined the word. He’d watched the woman he loved fuck another guy and there wasn’t any pain that could top that.

Except there was. Of course there was. Because that had been a dog and pony show. Lucifer had wanted him to do something reckless, something unforgivable, and he’d known just how to do it. Dean had done the rest.

He hadn’t taken the time to consider how the fuck Faith had gone from being fucked in the Impala to fresh and clean-looking within the span of ten minutes. He hadn’t taken any time at all, rather stormed into their room and…

God, he was going to be sick.

“It wasn’t _all _bullshit. I mean, most of it was, but I _did_ follow her to the diner,” Lucifer said helpfully. “Thought you might want to know. Turns out I kinda mighta maybe mischaracterized the nature of her reunion with the tweed dweeb.” He made a face. “Sorry.”

And then he snapped his fingers, and the scene around them changed. At once, Dean found himself standing in The Village Café just down the road in Esbon.

God, he didn’t want to see this.

“Stop,” he said weakly.

“But don’t you wanna know?” Lucifer crooned. “I think you do. Observe our players.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. Though he’d only been around Wes for brief periods, during which other shit was going on, he recognized the guy right off. The man who had sacrificed his best friend’s daughter, who was responsible for Faith going up that night in the cemetery, sat at a small two-person table near the checkout counter, looking bored.

And that pissed him off. What fucking right did this prick have to be _bored _after all he’d done?

The door opened then, and Faith came across the threshold, a small grin on her face as though she’d been thinking of something pleasant. That grin faded the second she saw Wes—she went rigid and just stared, and Dean watched as she went through the motions. Shock then resignation. Anger then sadness. Confusion then…

Then Wes looked up and their eyes met. And Faith fucking smiled.

_“Hey,”_ she said. _“Long time.”_

Wes stared at her for a long moment, his eyes flooding with tears.

And there it was. The hug Faith had told him about. She ran over to the guy who had killed her and threw her arms around his neck. Something that seemed to shock the hell out of Wes, so much so he made a comment about it, to which Faith smarted back with a vague threat. A very Faith-like threat.

“That’s sadly as tawdry as this reunion gets,” Lucifer whispered in his ear. “For a second there, I hoped our girl would fall off the one-dick wagon and start making out with the guy, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Yeah, this was about as far from a tear-filled reunion between lovers as he figured it could get, even with Faith involved. He still didn’t understand the hug, why she’d look so happy to see him when she’d had nothing but anger and resentment toward the guy, but that was a question he’d never get the chance to ask.

The pain hit again, stronger this time. Whatever had happened here, Faith hadn’t intended to keep him in the dark. She’d just needed time.

Dean watched as Faith asked about Sabrina, asked if the littlest Winchester was in the john. Watched Wes go a bit pink around the ears that Faith knew there was another woman now, and as Faith nonchalantly announced that Sabrina was her boyfriend’s sister, so of fucking course, she knew about her.

Him. Dean. He was the boyfriend.

That pain in his chest amplified. He thought it might kill him. He hoped it would.

Wes did the song and dance Dean had gotten used to seeing the others perform—surprise that Faith was with anyone, that she’d claimed it. This guy who had been the closest thing Faith had had to a boyfriend before he’d gone and fucking gotten her killed was surprised she had any sort of relationship now.

For some reason, this pissed him off. But he didn’t have time to linger, because Faith was talking again. She launched into a little speech about how the asshole better treat her boyfriend’s sister right. How she’d clued in that Sabrina didn’t like her—something Dean had been too fucking slow to notice—but wanted to protect her anyway. Because she knew the girl was a Winchester and mattered something to Dean.

God, he didn’t want to believe it. Any of it. He wanted this to be another trick of the devil’s, something to make the pain even more unbearable. But there were things Lucifer couldn’t know about Faith—small, subtle nuances in the way she talked, the faces she made, how her eyes moved, her body language. Fucking was easy enough to mimic, but Lucifer tended to edge toward the cartoony when imitating others, and there was nothing fucking cartoony about this.

In the diner, Wes commented on how protective Faith was of the people she loved, and Dean watched her eyes spark like they did whenever he told her he loved her. How she looked scared and happy at the same time—that little look that had driven him nuts. The look that hadn’t been enough but been precious too. Because when she had it, he knew she was thinking about him, about what that meant, about everything.

_“You are happy, aren’t you?”_ Wes asked. _“That’s all I want for you.”_

_“I am,” _Faith replied without so much as a blink. _“And I don’t mind telling you that freaks me out. Never figured I’d get to experience this one way or another.”_

Happy. Faith had been happy that morning.

Whatever he felt now was worse than death. It was…

_“Do you love him?”_

Lucifer tapped him on the shoulder. “This is where it gets interesting. If you watch very closely, you can see the moment when you for sure got the girl. You know, right before you screwed the pooch.”

Dean didn’t think he could watch. He also knew he couldn’t not watch.

_“I don’t know,”_ she replied, then frowned. _“Fuck me, you know how bad I am at this shit. This thing with Dean has been off the rails since we first… But good, you know? So damn good. Like good I never thought I’d get. I always thought Buffy was a bit of a sucker. I get she and Blondie have this big, epic romance, but givin’ it all up for a guy always struck me as dumb. People who are in love do stupid shit.” _She sniffed_. “They get hurt. And the last fucking thing I wanna do is hurt Dean.”_

Dean shook his head, his eyes stinging. “Stop.”

“Yeah, no,” Lucifer said. “We’re getting to the best part.”

_“You think you will?”_ Wes asked, his brow furrowed.

_“I’m afraid I could.”_ She bit her lower lip. _“Scared shitless he could hurt me, too, if you wanna know the truth. ‘Cause I’ve seen what that can do too. Don’t think it’d be on purpose, with the way he loves, but we’re both fuck-ups and prone to stupid shit.”_ A single tear went down her cheek. _“Kinda love that about him, actually.”_

He was going to be sick. Dean looked away, looked around the facsimile of the diner Lucifer had taken him to, looked anywhere but at the woman he’d hurt.

“Oh no, honey bear. She’s just getting started.”

And she was. Wesley seemed strangely intent on helping her figure out her feelings for Dean, which made everything worse because it was clear with every word that this guy hadn’t been looking to win her back. Still, Dean couldn’t block out the voices and after a moment, he couldn’t look away either. As Wesley asked if she could imagine her life without Dean—she could, she said, but she didn’t want to. He asked if she counted on him more than anyone else and if he was the reason she was happy. Hell, he even asked if she’d ever felt anything like what she felt for Dean for him, and her answer had been a blunt but completely Faith, _“Shit no.”_

He thought that was the worst it could get. The absolute worst. The maniacal grin on Lucifer’s face should have clued him in.

_“Dean has his dark, too,”_ she said, after telling Wes how wrong their relationship had always felt to her, even when she’d been in the middle of it. _“That might be what I first saw in him…and yeah, it scared me, but not for the same reasons. Think it scared me more because…he didn’t want the dark. He wants to be better, same as I do, ‘cept he wants it so much he can’t even see that he already is. And I don’t know if he ever will, if he’ll ever believe what a good man he is. The best man I know. It’ll never be enough for him, even though he spends every day tryin’ to prove to himself that he is. And fucked up as it is, I love that about him, too.”_

Beside him, Lucifer began to slow clap and sniffle with great exaggeration. “That was just _beautiful_. Beautiful. Don’t you think so, Dean-o?” When he didn’t get a response, he huffed a bit, snapped his fingers, and the scene dissolved. Just like that, they were back in the concrete box. “Don’t worry,” he said solemnly. “It improves upon repeat viewings. I know I nearly lost my lunch the first time, but add a little bit of context and we’re cooking with fire. Might actually be my favorite show now.”

“It’s not real,” Dean said thickly, not bothering to address the tears in his eyes. It was, he knew, but he didn’t _want _it to be. He wanted this to be another trick. Something Lucifer had concocted just to make everything worse. Because knowing that was how Faith had felt about him before he’d fucking ripped her heart out was almost worse than if the scene with Wes had been real.

No, not almost. It was worse.

Lucifer shrugged. “Okay. It’s not real,” he replied, tone bored. Then he tilted his head. “Interesting, though. You knowing me enough to give the game away to the little redhead bitch, yet immediately taking the bait when you saw our Slayer getting serviced by her ex. What does that say about how you _really _feel, my good lad? Thinking our girl dodged a bullet.”

He knew what Lucifer was getting at—that he could believe the bad about Faith but not the good, but that wasn’t it at all. Even after seeing Faith with Wes, it had never been her he’d doubted. It had been himself.

Faith could love just fine, just not him. Faith could want a forever-kind of relationship, just not with him. Faith could overlook anyone’s bad, just not his. Every second he’d had with her, he’d thought to be stolen. He’d figured it was just a fucking matter of time before she got wise to the fact that she was so far out of his league they might as well have been different species. Faith leaving him for someone else, fucking someone else, was one of those things he’d felt was inevitable. That she’d choose to go back to the guy who’d gotten her killed hadn’t seemed out of the question, either, because how much worse was Wes when compared to the shit Dean had done? Answer—he wasn’t.

He’d been ready to lose her for days. Hating it, dreading it, but feeling it was inevitable.

If he’d slowed down enough to listen to his own goddamn advice, the things he’d been telling his kitty about the sort of games Lucifer played, he’d have been able to get a hold of himself long enough to put the pieces together. Like the fact that the Impala didn’t smell of sex and there was no mess to clean up. That Faith had magically teleported from getting fucked within an inch of her life to sitting calmly on their bed. That she hadn’t even snapped to the defensive until he’d pushed her there. That she hadn’t looked guilty—the kind of guilty she’d looked the night she’d told him about Sammy’s dumbass love spell idea—but hurt and angry. And even then, she’d taken off because she hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

“You know the funny part is I don’t know where Faith actually went that afternoon,” Lucifer continued. “I saw her take the car and got inspired. But if I was a betting man, after that nauseating display with her ex, I say it was something all sweet and mushy for you. Like a trip to the flannel store.” He grinned. “Oh dear Dad, did you ever step in it this time, Deany boy. It wasn’t my first choice—little whore picked the worst possible time to discover monogamy—but watching you sabotage what we both know was the best thing in your small, miserable life absolutely made up for it. Every time I think you can’t sink lower, there you are, exceeding my expectations. Joke’s on me, I guess. I never should’ve doubted you.”

“Why her?” Dean forced himself to ask. He knew it wasn’t because she’d been with him—Faith’s account of their first meeting indicated as much. Lucifer hadn’t known who she was running with at the time. “Just tell me that.”

Lucifer tilted his head, considering him, and just when Dean resigned himself to the fact that the devil wouldn’t talk, a wide grin split his face.

“I thought I’d do something different,” Lucifer said. “Maybe because Dad got me thinking about what a rotten father he was, how I could do better. Maybe because, I dunno, it was Tuesday. But I want it bad, I don’t mind telling you. It’s time for the devil to become a daddy, Dean. And saucy little Faith is the perfect momma. You might even say she was made for me.” He paused. “’Course, we both know Dad had something in mind for her, tossing her back the way he did, and putting a little hellspawn in her belly would be, to me, poetic justice. Don’t worry—there’s a chance”—he made a face and added, “Not a great one, but a _chance _she might even survive bringing my boy into the world. Though I don’t know what use she’d have after that. Pretty sure I’d wreck that vagina in more ways than one.” He cupped his mouth and called, “Hello, hello, hello, you know what I mean?”

A rush of pure fury stole through him before he could rein it in, and Dean found himself moving. He knew it was stupid, knew it wouldn’t work, but knowing wasn’t enough to slow him down. Lucifer just laughed and snapped his fingers, and then the devil was gone, and Dean crashed at full speed into the concrete wall to his prison. Stars danced around his head as he tumbled back, and then he was on the ground, his spine aching, his heart all but destroyed, and nothing but himself for company.

The room had no doors. No windows. Nothing but that goddamned chair. He wasn’t sure exactly which part of Hell he was in, but it wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. Not that that meant anything. With Lucifer, anything was fair game.

Still… Dean patted down his pockets. Not lucky enough to have a gun on him, or a knife—he’d been ready to die, so why pack to defend himself?—but there was something. His phone.

No fucking chance Hell got reception. But Dean felt a rush of hope anyway and tore it free. The indicator light was going off, telling him he had missed calls and messages. A voicemail from Sam and…something from Buffy?

No, not Buffy. His throat tightened. Not fucking Buffy.

And after he listened to Sam’s voicemail, after he read the texts Faith had sent him, he figured he was right where he belonged after all.

*~*~*

Faith’s head was killing her.

And when she remembered why, she wished it would.

No chance that was a bad dream. Dean’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Also, the skin around her eyes was taut and dry. There was an odd pressure around her sinuses, too, one that told her she’d spent a fair amount of the previous night crying.

Faith groaned and forced herself to sit up, every limb feeling weighed down with lead. She glanced around the room, though for what she didn’t know. She had no memory of coming in here the previous night, and she hadn’t bothered to strip or take off anything she’d been wearing the day before. Their room—_Dean’s _room—was not where she would have chosen to hang her hat last night. Not with its sheets that smelled like him or the bits and pieces of himself scattered throughout.

But now that she was in here, she found she couldn’t stomach the thought of being anywhere else. At least here…

_At least here, what? He dumped your ass last night._

Faith gritted her teeth and shook her head to stave off another wave of tears. She had no business crying today. Today, she needed to focus on getting him back from wherever Lucifer had taken him. She could worry about their relationship status afterward.

There was a knock on the door, the sort that was a formality. The door opened the next second and Sam poked his head in. His eyes did that puppy dog thing when they met hers. “You’re awake.”

“Just,” Faith replied, her throat dry. “How’d…how’d I get in here?”

“Nick had the foresight to ask Hermione to draft a sleeping tonic,” Sam replied, stepping fully into the room. “I told you it was a fifth of Jack Daniels and you chugged it back.”

“Word to the wise, Sammy—no one likes bein’ roofied.”

“We need you at full strength and thinking clearly if we have any hope of getting Dean back.”

She winced. Fuck, just hearing his name hurt. “Not sure Dean woulda wanted me in here,” she said, gesturing to the room. “Bold fucking move, Moose boy.”

Sam closed the door behind him, ran his hands down his sides. “Yeah, well, I think I worked out what happened, between what you, uhh, yelled last night, what Giles said, and Willow.”

Fuck. Willow. That’s right. The bitch had joined the home team. Just too fucking late.

“This the kinda thing that’s gonna make me hurl? ‘Cause if so, at least bring me a goddamn waste-basket.”

Sam did as she said, which did little to bolster her confidence.

“Dean told Giles you slept with Wes. In the Impala. That he _saw it _happening. That he heard you tell Wes that you loved him.” Sam kept his gaze on the floor as though to give her privacy, which struck her as hilarious and tragic all at once. “That meshed with what Willow said happened just before he disappeared. Apparently, he was ranting to her about how Lucifer can make you believe or see anything he wants in order to get what he wants. From what she said, he… He realized then that it hadn’t happened. Lucifer started bragging about it. Dean was too messed up to fight, but he… Willow said that he wanted to her to give you a message. We don’t know what that message was because Lucifer did…whatever he did the next second, but Faith, I know my brother. If he was thinking about you then, if he wanted to get _you _a message, it was to tell you he was sorry.”

Faith sat very still, not sure she could trust herself to move or speak without breaking down. A rush of tangled emotions had exploded somewhere inside her—anger and hurt being at the topmost, aside from fear.

Dean had been telling her for days that Lucifer had ways of getting what he wanted, that he would pull every dirty trick in the book. To be prepared for anything and to trust nothing. And yeah, the fact that he hadn’t taken his own fucking advice—that he’d been willing to go to the worst fucking conclusion—hurt like a motherfucker. And for a moment, it was easier focusing on that hurt than anything else.

Except when she let herself breathe and imagine a different scenario. If that Lisa woman he’d been head over for once upon a time had shown up, professed that she was ready to accept Dean—hunter and all—and loved him the way he deserved? Lucifer could have shown her that, shown her Dean getting busy with Lisa, with a woman who didn’t shy from saying the words, a woman he had a history with, and tricks notwithstanding, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have believed it.

In fact, she was pretty sure she would have. At least enough to do something stupid. She might not have confronted him about it—she might have just taken off with some passive-aggressive _fuck you_ in his voicemail. Believing the worst was something that came easy for her, especially about herself. Girls like Faith Lehane didn’t get to live happily ever after. And Dean was no different.

“Fuck,” Faith whispered, at last, dropping her head into her hands. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Sam was quiet a moment. “He told me he loves you. Yesterday. And that you hadn’t said it back. Dean doesn’t, ahh, emote a lot, but I know that must’ve been on his mind. Made what Lucifer showed him worse.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel rotten enough.”

“I’m just trying to walk through how he got to that headspace. Not trying to make you feel bad…or anything that you don’t think you do.”

Except he already knew she did. Faith might not remember too much from the night before, but she did remember telling Sam that she was pretty damn sure she loved Dean more than he did. Not something a slightly more sober Faith would have admitted aloud, but drunk just enough? Yeah. She’d say it. And believe it. Because it was true.

Faith closed her eyes. “I’ve thought about sayin’ it a thousand goddamn times, but I was scared shitless and didn’t know if I could trust myself enough to believe it was real.” She snickered, shaking her head. “Wanna know when I knew it for sure, Sammy? Talkin’ to Wes yesterday. I saw him in that fucking diner and… I dunno what I thought was gonna happen when I saw him again. Thought I’d tear his head off for what he did to Ro but I was just…happy. ‘Cause fucked up as all of that was, it got me here. To your dumbass brother. Dunno if we woulda crossed paths otherwise, so I was fucking _happy _looking at the guy who got me killed. Planned on telling Dean everything—all of that—last night. Then everything went to shit.”

“Hey.” Sam clapped her on the shoulder, forcing her to look up. “He’s not dead, Faith. You’ll get the chance to tell him.”

“And if I don’t?” She sniffed, fighting back the tears that wanted to escape. So fucking done crying. “If that was it?”

“It wasn’t. I won’t accept it and neither will you. We’ll get him home.”

Faith swallowed, got herself under control, and gave a jerky nod. “Right. So what’s the plan?”

“We go meet with the others. Strategize.” He paused. “Wes is here. I gave him the green light after Rose said it was good with her, though I kinda think she might’ve said that just to see her father take a swing at him.”

She snorted. “Sounds about right.” She met Sam’s eyes. “Not gonna lie—kinda surprised. Know you haven’t been my number one fan. You believe me when I say I didn’t fuck him?”

“I believe it. Don’t think anyone who saw you last night couldn’t.” Sam swallowed, his cheeks going a bit pink. “Plus, as Sabrina was quick to point out, it would’ve been hard for him to have been fucking you when they were—ahh, she used the word _marathon _and I didn’t ask any other questions.”

Faith perked her brows. “Wes can marathon? Color me shocked.”

“Please, let’s never discuss this again.”

An actual grin split her lips at that. “You do have a massive stick up your ass, Sammy.”

“She’s my sister. It’s gross.” He waved at the bed. “As gross as I know this thing is, but I can ignore it for now. For the greater good.”

Faith snorted. “Mighty big of you,” she replied. “All right. Show your ass out. I have a shower with my name on it, then we can powwow.”

“There’s bacon.”

“All right. Shower can wait.”


	87. Chapter 87

The sleeping potion had seemed a good idea not only for the drunkenly distraught slayer, but for the emotionally wrecked witch—Sam hadn’t had to fight her hard to get her consent. Apparently she’d been running on the magical equivalency of speed for the last several day now. She needed a crash.

Sam held her through the night, but could only drift off for brief bits before awaking to check that she was still there or that Oz was okay. He continued the cycle until dawn broke and Oz was ready for his typical feeding time.

Reluctant, worried that she may wake up and disappear again, Sam left the room with the baby with the hope she was back for good. At least she wouldn’t take off without seeing her son. He was a little surprised to find the bunker buzzing with activity so early in the morning.

“Baby!” the girl Sam vaguely remembered as Rosalie cried when he walked into the kitchen. He stood in shock as she skipped forward and practically snatched Oz from his arms. “Aww! He’s such a cutie pie!” she cooed as she snuggled him.

“_That’s _how it starts, man,” Zack Morris said with a snicker as he sat at the small kitchen table. “Two words: baby fever.”

“Two words,” Zack Wright countered, sitting across from his brother. “_Fuck you_.”

“Not funny,” a young British man Sam remembered sorta from things a couple of months back. He was Rosalie’s something. He looked at Morris. “Two words: birth control.”

Rosalie walked toward the woman tending stove. “You want to hold him, Kelly? He’s got that new baby smell.”

Kelly took an awkward glance at Oz before shaking her head and stepping away. “I really shouldn’t. I just came out to cook.”

“Come on,” Rosalie admonished. “We all know you’re a professional baby snuggler. Give this fella some snuggles.”

“Get him away from me,” Kelly said in a low and dangerous voice that made Sam want to do exactly that. After bounding over to the girl, he took hold of his son.

“Easy,” Morris said softly. “It’s all good.” He looked at his wife a moment before nodding to Sam. “Trust me, it’s cool. She’s just a little gun shy still.”

Sam didn’t know what that meant and decided he didn’t want to ask. He held up the can of formula powder in his hand. “I uhh, just need to make a bottle.”

“Gotcha,” Wright said as he stood and came over to take the container. “You hit the full bottle yet or still working up?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.

“Then I got this. Go on and grab a seat in the map room or library. I’ll find you in a bit.”

It amused Sam to see the broad-shouldered hunter so casually at ease mixing up a bottle—granted, the guy obviously had more dad experience than Sam by decades.

After wandering out and where he believed the main room was—he made a couple of confusing wrong turns—he entered another space filled with people. “Sam.” He was greeted first by Hermione’s warm smile.

“Wait,” a voice sounded from the side and Sam turned to see the guy he recognized from the various Skype conversations rushing toward him. “Is that…is that really Oz the Great and Powerful?”

“No!” A woman came running up. “I _so _get to hold him first!”

“Dawn!” Xander whined. “Willow’s _my _best friend.”

“She’s _my _sister!”

“Bloody hell,” Giles said, standing and coming over to stand between them. “The two of you are going to upset him with you’re bickering.”

Xander looked confused. “He’s in politics. Pretty sure this ain’t nothing, G.”

“The _baby_, dumbass,” Dawn scoffed.

Giles looked to Sam. “May I?” he asked softly with a look that Sam couldn’t refuse. He nodded and gently handed him off.

“Hey!” Xander and Dawn snapped in unison.

Giles flashed a smug grin to them both. “She’s my daughter. Seemed befitting.” He turned to walk off toward his chair with a loving smile at the little wiggling boy.

Satisfied for the moment that his son was in safe hands, Sam surveyed the rest of the group. “Any chance we figured out how to fix everything and get everyone home?”

“We’ve been working on location spells for Dean, Buffy, and Spike, but have yet to locate any of them,” Harry said dejectedly.

“Which doesn’t mean bloody shit at this point,” Ginny added with a pointed look at the blonde woman sitting next to Giles. She stared at Oz with a distant stare as tears filled her eyes.

“Dean and Sam’s mom,” Dawn said in a whisper that was intended to help him out with introductions. “Mary’s strong, but a baby boy…well, you know.”

Sam didn’t. He couldn’t fathom what she was going through. He contemplated offering condolences on the current situation, but decided it was likely best to just keep quiet.

“Okay,” Sam Winchester said, walking into the room. He nodded at Sam and several of the others. “FYI, Cass is still not answering. I got ahold of Rowena and she’s gonna slip in and do some tracking.”

A couple of people stepped in from a different room—these he recognized as Sabrina Deanne and Wesley Pryce. It seemed all hands were on deck now. “Sorry, but I missed something,” Sabrina replied. “Slip in where?”

“Hell,” Sam said flatly. “Even if she can’t pick up an exact location, she can confirm they’re all down there. Then we move on to phase two.”

“Cool,” came a voice behind Sam and he turned to see the previous occupants of the kitchen—sans Kelly—had gathered. He took a step aside to allow them full entrance to the conversation. “What we calling phase two?”

“We go down there and get them out.” Everyone froze as Faith stepped out from Sam’s shadow. She looked like hell—and Sam imagined she was fighting a nasty hangover—but she had an edge in her voice that sounded like nothing but strength and control. Definitely not the broken woman he’d encountered last night.

“Not to rain on the parade,” Wright began, “but isn’t that the problem we’ve had from the start? We can’t just walk in and make a withdrawal.”

“Not _exactly_, but yeah we can.” Sam’s truth bomb rocked the room.

“Let’s go,” Morris said at once.

“I’m in,” Rosalie declared.

“I’m going to save my sister,” Dawn announced.

“_No!_” Sam shouted to everyone at once, holding up his hands. “This is likely every bit a suicide mission. _If_ Rowena can get a track on them and _if _we can find a way to Cass, we stand a shot of making it out alive. Otherwise…”

A heavy silence filled the room and the tension was so thick Sam could nearly taste it. Oz reacted with a frustrated cry that mimicked a bugle horn.

“_That_ normal?” Wright asked Sam as he handed him the bottle.

“Truthfully, that’s him on a good day,” Sam muttered with a weak smile as he went to hand Giles the formula. The elder man was definitely unsettled by the current conversation but appeared unwilling to surrender what Sam would guess was his surrogate grandson.

Dawn turned to look Sam Winchester full on. “If you think for a goddamn minute I’m just gonna stand aside doing _nothing_ while you run off to fucking _Hell_, you’re officially the dumbest damn man I’ve ever met, Sam Winchester.”

“Dawn,” Sam’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and continued. “You _can’t _go. You’re a _Key_, remember?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dawn looked moments away from slapping the guy right in the face before turning around and walking to far side of the room.

Winchester looked to Rosalie. “You can’t go either.”

“Fuck you, I can too,” the blonde slayer snapped.

“No,” he said with a firmness that Sam found somewhat intimidating. “You’re the _active _Slayer. Your job in _here_ on Earth. If you were to end up trapped in Hell for eternity, I honestly don’t know if another would be called.” He looked to Giles and the British boy. “Seriously, is there anything on how that works?”

“No,” Giles said thoughtfully.

“He’s right, love,” the boy said, coming up and taking Rosalie’s hand. “Not just trying to protect you this time. You really are holding the slayer bloodline at this point.”

She looked around the room before her eyes settled on Faith. Grimly, she nodded. “You’re gonna be a fucking demon magnet down there.”

“I’m a fucking demon and devil magnet right now,” Faith countered. “And I’m officially out of fucks to give.”

“Well, I’m still in,” Morris declared.

Winchester gave him an uneasy look. “Yeah…about that…”

“What?” the vampire demanded.

“Let me put it blunt,” Faith said. “Your wife is still a sneeze away from going fangy again and you ain’t always had the best reputation for self-control. Last thing we need is you dropping your soul and going all homicidal while we’re trying to get shit done. Best if you sit back and keep your woman in check.”

Morris opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Slowly he closed it and took a step back in defeat.

“Rowena is gonna stay near the door,” Sam stated. “Which, considering Crowley is giving off bad vibes, is probably the wisest choice. She can handle him if it comes to anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said with a slight snicker. “While Rowena seems competent enough, I sincerely doubt she can single-handedly handle the King of Hell.”

Sam gave her a shrug. “She’s his mother.”

Ron Weasley balked. “Did not see that one coming.”

Dawn grunted loudly. “Wow…kinda makes sense now that I think about it.”

Winchester shook his head. “That all said, I kinda think we could use another magic member on the team. Faith’s got the muscle and I’ve been down before. Cass can do a lot _if _we find him, but—”

“I’ll go,” Sabrina said at once.

“_Wait!_” Wes cried out at once, grabbing the woman’s arm. “Did you not just hear what he’s saying? This is practically a _suicide mission_.”

Sabrina looked at him with more annoyance than concern. “Dude, he’s my _brother_. I’ve gone my whole life wanting a family. I’m sorry, Wes, but I can’t sit here and let both my brothers do this alone.” She turned to Sam Winchester and nodded. “I mean it. I want to do this and I understand the risk.”

Winchester looked painfully conflicted at her words. “That means a lot. More than you know.” He kept his eyes on her. “No offense, but you got the experience for this?”

“I’m an Auror,” she defiantly declared.

“Barely,” Harry muttered and then looked somewhat guilty when the woman tossed him a heated glare. “It’s true! Looking through your records—which I did—you don’t have much field experience.”

“The only reason I lack fucking experience is because Toadmore cockblocked me every chance he got!” Sabrina snapped. “Nearly every time I asked for a real gritty assignment, he shot me down and said I was best away from NoMaj contact.”

“That makes sense now,” Hermione said slowly. She gave Ron and Harry a look before looking at Sabrina. “Toadmore knew your file when you didn’t. Knew your father was a hunter.” She nodded at Sam. “Knew you were a _Winchester_. Both of those have notorious records of…disobedience. He’s likely been keeping you in check.”

This seemed to knock the wind out of the witch. “You’re shitting me? All this time…” She growled. “Fucking _son of a bitch_!”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Rosalie said in utter bewilderment. “She _is _Dean’s sister.”

Sam Winchester barked a laugh at that. “Hey now.”

Faith blinked and looked at him. “Yours too. Figured that out by the pretty hair.”

“All right,” Sam chastised as he grew more serious. He looked from Sabrina to Harry. “So, we good?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said hesitantly before turning to Sabrina. “And again I say that with no offense. I just think if we go down there, we need to take our greatest power.”

“Yeah, no,” Ginny said as she hit Harry’s arm. “Not about to listen to you make some grand speech and put your name into this goblet of hellfire.”

“Yeah,” Ron said wearily as he looked at Hermione. “Sorry, love, but same goes for me. Fat chance I’m letting you saunter down to Hell for a rescue.”

“Ronald,” Hermione softly berated, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s not any easy choice to make, but lives are at stake. And like Harry reasoned, it only makes sense to use our greatest power.” She released a shaky breath. “Therefore, it should be—”

“Me.”

The room grew completely silent as Willow stepped in from the hallway. Sam took a step toward her. “Willow?” he whispered to her from across the room.

She locked eyes with him and he knew at that moment it was a fruitless battle—her mind was made up. He watched a tear fall down her cheek in apology. “I _have_ to—for _Oz, _for me, for _everyone _I’ve hurt.” Her chest was heaving as she turned to Faith and Winchester. “I built a trap. He said it was for Lucifer, but now I see it was _for Lucifer_. When I finished it, he moved it to Hell. There’s a chance he put Dean in there—but I can open it from the outside.”

Faith took a dangerous step forward. “What fucking _hell_ did you put him in? If he’s being tortured right now, I swear here and now I will fucking kill you the second you pop the lock.”

“_No!_” Willow cried, throwing up her hands in protest. “I mean, Michael—_Lucifer_—had been pretty petty about it not being punishment enough.” She sighed. “Which I get now was another damn clue that I missed.” Swallowing, she composed herself. “It’s just a concrete box—nothing else. Nothing that can hurt him, but nothing to lead him to a way out. Just…”

“Nothing,” Sam Winchester said with dark understanding. “Well, in the scheme of things, that’s _actually _not that bad.” He turned to Faith. “He can handle that. He’s been in prison and he’s been trapped. He can handle stir-crazy, but every minute up here is like days down there. When he was gone for four months, he came back saying it was forty years down there. So even a day would be like…” He stopped to calculate.

“Three months,” the British boy said almost immediately.

“We need to go—_now_,” Faith declared.

“Agreed.” Winchester in her shared a long look. “Kenesaw, Nebraska—about an hour north of here—is an entrance to Hell. Let’s load up and head that way.”

“I need weapons,” Faith stated.

“And I’ll need supplies,” Willow added.

Sabrina pulled her wand out and looked at it. “I really just need some breakfast.”

Sam looked at each of the ladies before finding his mom in the group. “Think Dean would be pissed if we left without eating bacon.”

Mrs. Winchester wiped her eye and gave a sad smile. “We better check around for any pie. Just for luck.”

*~*~*

Dean had to keep reminding himself that time moved slower in Hell—which he grew convinced he was when he noted somehow he never died of starvation or dehydration as the days wore on. In a sick twist of torture, his cell battery never died either. While he couldn’t call out, he was stuck for eternity with those last few messages on repeat forever.

Faith had sent him a music video—“Could You Love me Anyway” by Pink and Chris Stapleton. He watched it a thousand times, it felt like—bawling hundreds and never not getting to end without shedding a tear. He longed to tell Faith how he’d love her through anything—actually cracked enough to scream it one day until his throat was so raw he couldn’t speak for two.

When he found the video Rosalie had sent of Faith drunkenly singing “Bruised” by Ben Folds, he’d lost his shit for another couple days. He played it over and over until he was about ready to give up and ask Lucifer to just fucking end him once and for all. But he reminded himself that being dead meant he’d never get to tell her he was sorry and he owed her that more than relief from his tortured soul.

He didn’t know how long he’d actually been there—he hadn’t thought to start tracking his days until he’d been there maybe a week—when he ventured from the voicemails and texts on his phone to some of the other apps. He laughed out loud when he discovered that the dirty videos he’d saved had more than half been erased—he knew his kitty had been up to something. Apparently, she’d been evaluating his porn collection for some time.

God, he missed her. That one sad video was his only reminder—and it was so hard to watch. After a few more days he began to wonder if he’d ever snapped a photo of her. If he was lucky, maybe she’d taken a selfie when she was playing around.

Words couldn’t describe the sheer excitement that filled him when he noted a stream of videos were saved on his camera roll. Each one showed Faith’s face. “Holy fuck,” he said in awe as he scrolled to the oldest one.

_“Haha, look who left his phone untended. You just stomped off to the bathroom to pout because I dethroned you at Child’s Play trivia. Them grapes be sour.”_ Faith stuck her tongue out at the camera, grinning wildly. _“And yes, by the way, I am very much hoping that you’ll punish me when you find this video.”_

Dean snickered as a warmth filled his chest he hadn’t felt in days. God, she was so fucking beautiful. He remembered that night. “Little bitch,” he teased her still frame. Then he went to the next one.

_“I can’t figure out if you saw the vid and decided to just cold-shoulder me since I owned your ass so hard last night, or if you just never check your fucking phone. Gotta say, not smart. I might hop on Facebook and put you in a committed relationship with Taylor Swift.”_

“You didn’t,” he snapped at her and then tried to pull up his Facebook to no avail. “Damn woman,” he grumbled and went back to the videos.

The next one featured heavy panting and started with a view of the ceiling. Then the camera turned to reveal Faith lying on her back, sweaty and satisfied. _“Okay, that thing you just did with your tongue? You already seemed a bit too fucking full of yourself, so I’ll tell you now—you were right. Don’t let it go to your head, or I won’t give you any.”_

A cocky chuckle escaped him at that and he replayed that one a couple of times. “Told ya so,” he told her. “I told your ass you couldn’t fake it that good.” He went on to the next reluctantly.

The next one featured a view of Dean on the bed, naked, conked out, one leg thrown over the side. “_So…this is your definition of ‘rock my world’. Told you you needed your beauty sleep.”_ The camera turned to reveal a thoroughly smirking Faith. _“And yes, this is me saying ‘I told you so’ again. Next time I might do it with a little dance.”_

“No fair!” he called out to her. “I remember that night and that’s just cheating.” He sighed and shook his head. “You made up a dance, didn’t you?” He swiped onward.

This one was a close-up of her face. _“Good morning, sunshine. If I limp around today, try not to look too smug.”_ She ended it on a wink.

“That’s my girl,” he said softly as reality started to hit him that she wasn’t around to hear his feedback. He knew it wasn’t her style, but some of these moments would have been more fun to experience in real-time. Especially the compliments.

The next one was Faith giving the camera a bemused look. _“Seriously, you’re eventually gonna run out of space on this thing. Or at least start wondering why it’s running so goddamn slow. You know what? I’m gonna start deleting your porn. Not like you get a lot of chance to beat the bishop these days, anyway. I’ll keep the good stuff, though…for now.”_

“I knew it!” he declared in triumph. “I knew you were going through those.” He shook his head and laughed. “And thanks for deleting my playlist. All I can do now is beat the bishop.”

Yeah, he knew he was talking to himself. He just really wasn’t inclined to give a fuck anymore.

The next video was considerably longer than those that had come before it, and he recognized the setting as the bathroom at the bunker. Unlike the others, Faith wasn’t smirking or smarting off. She wore what he knew was her serious face, and it made his throat tighten.

_“Hey. Um… look, you just passed out. It’s been a bitch of a day and my head’s all over the place. But I kinda feel like I need to get this out and for some stupid reason, it’s easier talking to your fucking phone. I ain’t good at this shit either. In fact, the last time I was in the neighborhood of where my head is now, I went up like a firecracker. Well, you’d know. You were there for that. I think about that night a lot. Probably more than I should, but, man, you’ve died. Kinda hard not to play it on repeat.”_ She exhaled and ran her free hand through her hair. _“Few times I’ve caught winks and you haven’t been all up in my business, I dream about it. The fight. What dying felt like. You remember what happened right before? I begged you to shoot me. Didn’t have any fucking clue who you were or why you were there. But I saw the gun and thought you might be the ticket to keeping the evil assholes from getting the Faith bracelet souvenir. I was terrified of dying but… You coulda blown my head off and who knows where we’d be then? No telling if Chuck woulda sent me back if it’d gone another way—if I’d been missing half a skull, for instance. And this is gonna sound ridiculous ‘cause I didn’t know you for shit, but when I think about that now, it seems like it was easier ‘cause you were there. Which makes no fucking sense, I know. But there it is.”_ She licked her lips and turned her gaze southward, then, as he’d seen her do a thousand times, pulled herself together and reasserted control before looking back up. _“I’m sure if you asked B or Dawn or any of the old Scoobies, they’d trip over themselves to tell you that the problem with Faith is she has daddy issues. How else could a guy like Richard fucking Wilkins get her to go full villain? Part of it was ego. I liked feeling needed, appreciated, for me. You’re called to be this thing and it gives you purpose. And it happened at a time when I really fucking needed that. But I showed up in SunnyD and it turns out that was a one slayer town. No one needed me.”_

At this, she paused and rolled her eyes. _“And I don’t wanna paint this as a poor Faith, no one understood me and the other kids were mean. B gave me every chance and I was too much of a shit to appreciate that. Got jealous because I didn’t feel good enough. And I think that’s been the punch-line of my fucking life. Sure there’s some quack with a fancy degree who would charge me by the minute to tell me the reason I ride so much dick is because I’m starved for affection or some shit. And hell, what do I know? Maybe the quack would be right. Guess you always want what you’ve never had.”_

Faith looked down again, took a few deep breaths, and dragged her hand under her eyes. _“What I’m trying to _not_ say is I’ve never been anyone’s anything. Well, anything that mattered. So everything you said earlier, even if that’s all of it, is more than anyone’s given me. I’m good being that for you, even if I’m scared shitless about fucking it up or letting you down, or myself down. Easy to live when you have such fucking low expectations for yourself you’d have to take a fucking dive not to meet ‘em.” _She paused again, this time grinning. _“And maybe I’m going soft, but tonight was… I don’t do shit like that. Freaks me out when anyone tries. But with you? That might’ve been the best I’ve had it.”_

Dean hadn’t realized he’d began to cry until he felt a tear drip off his face. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered. “Dammit, Fay, I was right fucking there—you could have told me. You could have _showed _me.”

He contemplated repeating that one, but decided his heart couldn’t take it. He remembered how he’d told her she’d made him feel alive again—and all the emotion that had come from that experience. Knowing how much it meant to her…meant even more now. Sniffling, he played the next one.

_“Dean, you can’t fucking let whatever beef Dawn has with me get between you and your brother. The kid has a right to hate me—believe me. I did a world of bad to her big sis and that ain’t the kinda thing you just forgive. She was a kid when it happened and it’s hard to overcome that shit. So do me a solid and make nice with mini-B. If nothin’ else, she makes your brother happy, and that’s somethin’, right?”_

Ugh. That was a happy set of memories. He and Sammy had gotten pretty damn shitty during the whole Faith/Dawn grudge match. It seemed stupid looking back, but at the time he and Sam were totally breaking the whole “bros before hoes” mantra. Thankfully, he knew that would all clear up eventually.

_“I’m seriously gonna get you for that bottle of Crown. You think I’m joking but I’m not. Next time you need to throw something, reach for the cheap shit. If it’s worth stealing from a vamp, it’s worth keepin’ so we can drink it.”_

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered, aghast. That had been what he had deemed his lowest point with her—_now_ being excluded—and instead of focusing on what he did…what he’d done _to_ her… “Fuck, Faith,” he whimpered. “You should have been _pissed_ at me. The Crown—” He broke off with a watery laugh. “Girl, you fucked up.”

_“So…here’s the thing. I talked with B and…you and me are officially out of friends-with-benefits territory and fuuuuuuck me, that’s terrifying. Think if it were anyone but you I’d’ve run for the fuckin’ hills, but doesn’t that kinda mean she’s right? I know you didn’t plan this—hell, I didn’t either. Last guy I thought I’d do this with literally got me killed. But getting me killed also brought me to Kansas so…bonus? I dunno. I feel shaky and vulnerable and it’s your fault, but I also kinda love it so… Yeah, I guess we’re doing this without doing it. ’Cause if I were gonna get sick of you it’d have happened by now. So…there’s that. If you see me walking around looking like I saw a fucking ghost, it’s because I’m scared out of my mind.”_

He heard her say the L-word for the first time and he turned into a blabbering pile of pathetic. He remembered how exciting and terrifying and downright awesome it felt when they’d decided to officially quit dancing around the whole relationship issue. He’d hoped she’d felt as happy about it and now he had proof. She’d said she “kinda loved” it.

_“So nix the last vid. We’ve decided to label this bitch.” _Faith was grinning in a way he’d come to associate as just for him. _“I feel like a fucking twelve-year-old, but damn, how awesome is to say I’m somebody’s girlfriend? Seriously about three seconds from asking B if she wants to do my hair in rollers while we talk about boys. Think that’s part of the quintessential girl experience that I missed out on. I’m still scared out of my goddamned mind, but it’s…kinda nice. A good scared. Like you’re there with me and that helps.”_

Shit. These seemed to get harder to watch as he went on. It felt so fucking _good_ to hear her call herself his girlfriend—just as good to watch that goofy grin upon her face—but it hurt so bad to know that it was all in the past. He’d never be her boyfriend again even if he made it out. He’d ruined it for the both of them.

_“B’s got a plan and you ain’t gonna like it. Actually, pretty sure you’re gonna hate it and you’ll let me know just how much when it’s all over, assuming we’re still alive and kicking. But this is part of the gig—slayer’s gotta slay, whether or not I’m your girlfriend. And I swear to god, you better fucking be alive at the end of the night. If you get yourself killed, I’m kicking your ass.”_

If only. Maybe things would have gone differently if he’d managed to get his ticket punched that night—or better yet if he’d just kept his fucking cool when Lucifer got to poking his mouthy stick looking for trouble. The Slayer Babes had come out looking pretty good with their secret part of the plan. He was the one who had fucked it all up—at least how he’d always remember the Battle of Rosa Lee’s.

The next video had been filmed in Baby. It was night, and Faith was in the passenger’s seat._ “So I asked if it’d be better if I left and you just rolled with it. Like I was always talking about the both of us leaving.”_ She smiled and wiped at her eyes_. “Guess you don’t want me to go, huh? Good, ’cause I don’t really wanna go either. I just don’t wanna be the reason you and Sammy aren’t you and Sammy anymore. And I when I said that earlier, I was so fucking terrified you’d say, ‘Yeah and thanks for all the sex,’ that it… Anyway. Thank you for wanting me to stay. Or for being too fucking dense to realize what I was asking was if your life would be better if I moseyed on out of it.”_

Dean paused. Then he replayed the message. “Really?” he spoke to the phone. “You _really_…” He shook his head. “Damn, I am fucking dense because I never read it like that.” He tried to now and still couldn’t. “Quack quack,” he said with a tiny chuckle. “Guess slow boys never learn.”

The next one was a candid shot of Faith panting, splayed against a hotel room mattress. _“You sure can ride ‘em, cowboy.”_

Fuck. He caught himself grinning at that one. He couldn’t lie—this one was going on the spank bank for later.

_“I got nothin’ right now except, damn, boy, you have a fine ass.”_

“_Ohhh_,” he said, voice low. “Nasty, Miss Jackson.” Yup. This one was getting some replays too.

The next one was at the bunker, in what looked to be the kitchen. Faith arched an eyebrow, brought a Squirt into view, and popped it. Then proceeded to drain it all in one go. Afterward, she smacked her lips, then winked at the camera. _“If you know what I mean.”_

He lost his shit with this one. Dean couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so long and so hard that tears streamed down his face and his sides hurt from lack of air and tensed muscles. And that just made it funnier to him. He kept on until reality slowly came back to him and the tragedy again overcame the comedy. “I _do_ know what you mean,” he stated before moving on.

_“So…processing a lot right now. B’s gone. Spike’s gone. And you…You love me?” _She sniffed and looks at something off-screen. Looked like they were in the bathroom again. _“Shit, that’s heavy. I meant what I told you earlier—I’ve never… Never heard that from someone who knows me like you do. Who actually mattered. You get drunks and assholes who wanna tell you how much they love you every night but… But you? And I do want to love you. There are times I think I do but I’ve never been in love, like I said, and… Well, how the hell are you supposed to know? Stupid ass movies make it look all kinds of easy and that is literally all I know about it. This kind of love, anyway. But it means… Right now, the most I can tell you is I’ve never felt about anyone, anyone, the way I feel about you. And you deserve to be loved so much and I don’t wanna give that to you until I know for sure. That’s… That’s all I got for now.”_

Any residual amusement was sucked from his soul. This—_this_—was what he’d forgotten in his stupid fog of jealousy. He’d been so fucking terrified the night he’d let out his post-coital confession—still such a dick move in his mind—but she’d taken it with a beautiful grace that only Faith could give him. And knowing how much she appreciated it had been _enough_. He’d forgotten that as the days pressed onward. “I don’t deserve to be loved,” he choked out. “But you don’t deserve this.”

The next one was a view of his room, the phone apparently perched on the ledge above his bed. And it made his stomach drop because Faith was buck naked. _“Haven’t needed to get myself off since before I died. Number One keeps me nice and satisfied. Still, it’s something a girl should remember how to do, right? Wanna see how much I remember?” _And she proceeded to get herself off, right there so he could watch. It lasted both forever and not long enough, and when she finished, she turned to look at the camera. _“Hope you got more out of that than I did.” _She blinked and shook her head. _“Fuck, I think I miss my duck.”_

But that wasn’t the end. The door opened and then Dean saw himself. Saw him pause, take in the scene, and grin.

_“Well, you weren’t kidding.”_

Faith glanced to the phone again, something like panic on her face at being caught. Then, cool as always, she asserted control and rolled with it.

_“God, you are one sexy bitch,” _the lucky bastard in the video went on_. “What do I need to do to get this to be what I see every time I come in here from now on?”_

She rolled her eyes. _“You’re makin’ me dry up.”_

Dean watched as his on-screen self sauntered up, eyes raking over her. _“Uh huh.” _He dragged a finger up the slit of her pussy. _“If this is you dry, then—”_

_“Oh, shut up.”_

_“Make me.”_

Then she was in action, his girl. Sitting up, looping her arms around his neck, and favoring him with a side view of that smirk that drove him nuts. _“Gonna put that mouth to use.”_

_“I fucking hope so.”_

And then they fell to the bed, a tangle of limbs and wandering hands and moans. Much later, after the on-screen Dean had fallen asleep, Faith stirred enough to check on the camera.

_“Seriously still running?” _she whispered, then laughed._ “Well, this’ll be fun to watch later.”_

“Oh, _fuck_ that was wrong.” Dean looked down and saw his dick in his hand, fingers sticky from where he’d just shot his load. There was something psychologically twisted about jerking off to your own sex tape. “I’d say I’m going to Hell, but I’m literally already here.” He wiped his hand off on his jeans and tucked his rubber ducky back in his pants. Forget those other hot videos—he’d found the source of all his future bishop strokes.

_“So our sex tape is pretty hot,” _she said in the next video_. “Next time, though, I’ll choose a different camera angle. You can barely see your cock in this, and that’s just wrong. I look sexy as fuck, but are we really surprised? No. No, we’re not.” _She ended this by blowing a kiss at the phone.

“You’re killing me, Smalls,” he said, closing his eyes and softly knocking his head against the concrete wall at his back. He was a sick, sick boy who already wanted to watch the last video again. The promise of more Faith was what drove him onto the next.

_“You’re in a funk this afternoon. Apparently, you forgot that you gave me your dumbass passcode forever ago. Seriously, Dean, you can love me but me using your phone crosses a line? God help me if you figure out how much of your porn I’ve deleted to make room for my vid messages. And if that’s the straw that breaks the ducky’s back, then I’m out.”_

“That’s not what it was about,” he confessed aloud. “It was me just…” He sighed and shook his head. “God, I’m such a fucking dumbass. Who knows? Maybe it _is_ better this way.”

_“You know what I said about being out? Totally a lie. But I will bruise your ass in a less fun-for-you way. Sorry about the rough smacking, but thanks for trusting me on the Lucifer shit. I’m really trying to not fail at this girlfriend thing.”_

Dammit, he felt the fucking waterworks creeping up again. She hadn’t failed—he had. Monumentally. He’d trusted her on the Lucifer shit right up until Lucifer had played him like a fucking fiddle.

The next one started in the bathroom at the bunker. Faith brought the camera around so he got a screen-full of her pink ass. Then she brought it back to her face. _“Just thought you should see that. True fact: I’ve never actually come with a guy’s dick up there before. Another reason you’re Number One. You didn’t forget the clit. But I think we’re pretty even on this whole bruised ass thing.”_

He wiped his eyes and just took a moment to process that one. Yeah, on a sexual level that one had gone pretty high on the scale. On a deeper level, he’d loved the way there had been nothing but trust between them—she’d let him in every hole he could stick it—and she’d believed that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. And he hadn’t meant to but it hadn’t stopped him.

_“Finally had the heart-to-heart Ro’s been after me about. Turns out she thinks I love you. After last night… Look, I got Lucifer to prep for and also, your mom kinda cornered me, so I’m not thinking on this too much. But Dean, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. If I can’t say it, just know that, okay?”_

He was beginning to think it would all be easier if she just filmed him a message announcing a breakup. Tell him something bad or mean or just downright awful. _Anything_ that could make watching their relationship through her video confessions slightly less tragic.

The next one took place in what he recognized as the roach-motel bathroom from when they’d lit out after Sam had brought in Sabrina. _“Honestly, starting to think that dying was the best thing that ever happened to me. Which should tell you a lot, considering we’re here because the devil wants to bone me. But if it were between shaking him and not having this? You’re worth it.”_

“No, I’m really not.” He was getting nauseous now as he knew the messages were getting closer to the end. Part of him wanted to stop and save the rest for another day, but he was weak and needed every second of Faith he could get.

Then they were in the hotel—the one where he’d put it all out there. From the view—Faith sitting on the closed lid of the toilet—the phone had to be propped against the tub. Unlike every other message she’d left him, this time she looked nervous.

Dean felt his chest tighten and tried to prepare himself, knowing he couldn’t.

Faith opened her mouth, tried to speak but couldn’t. At length, she laughed and wiped at her eyes. _“I got so much in here”_—she tapped her chest—_“I can’t decide how to say any of it. Normally talking to your phone is easy but… Fuck, Dean. Fuck.”_ She laughed and wiped her eyes again. _“I don’t do the mushy shit—that’s more your thing. But here it goes. Every night with you has been the best night of my life. This one, though, blew all of them out of the fucking water. I…”_ She broke off, a soft, surprised and somewhat hopeful look spreading across her face. Then she turned and grinned at the camera. _“I think I just figured something out. More on that later. Until then…thank you for being you. For being alive. For being here with me.”_

The dam in his chest broke and he began to cry in earnest. He tapped his chest, mimicking her gesture. “I got so much in here too, baby.” He shook his head. “_Fuck_, so _much_.”

_“I’ll get around to telling you this to your face, but here it goes. I saw Wes today. This morning, actually. What took me so long to get breakfast. And it was…fucking weird. I thought I’d pop him one if I ever saw him again, but that’s not what happened. We talked and… Yeah, Dean, what I said earlier is right. Fucked up as it is, dying then is the best thing that happened to me. I’d be in LA otherwise and…that ain’t home. And seeing him made me realize something else. He asked me a lot of things about you—wanted to make sure I’m happy. There was a lot of heavy shit, but I kept telling him things I love about you, so much that he finally just asked if there is anything about you I don’t love. And when it occurred to me that the answer to that was no, it kinda clicked.” _She beamed a heartbreakingly beautiful smile._ “Dean, I fucking love you. Like stupid love you. And now I gotta find a way to tell you because we all know how good I am at the face-to-face shit. But…Wes helped me see that, so I guess I ain’t mad at him at all. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have you. And that’s worth dying any day of the fucking week.” _She paused._ “You’re home no_w.”

He stared blankly at the screen, numb for a moment at the realization that he’d just heard the words he’d _never_ expected to hear. What should have been the fucking happiest moment of his life had instead twisted into the darkest and most painful thing he’d ever fucking felt. He thought he’d known what torture was—thought he knew how to handle it and deal it better than any human in existence. He had been wrong. _Nothing _compared to this. He’d endure a thousand years on the rack—he’d fucking torture souls for a thousand years—to fix what he’d broken. To get back the chance of hearing her ever say those words again and mean it.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

He was about to flip back to the start and begin the bittersweet Faith movie all again but noticed there was one video left. He wasn’t sure he could take it.

_“All right. Operation ‘Blow Dean’s Socks Off Before Blowing Dean’ is officially a go. And it’s possible you’re watching this during said operation because I chickened right the fuck out and decided to do this easy by cluing you into the fucking library of vids I’ve made over the past few weeks. Probably hiding in the bathroom, too. Big fucking coward. I’m gonna try to get better at saying this shit to your face, so this might be the last one. But in case it wasn’t fucking clear in my previous video? I love you. You… Shit, you make me happy. I’ve never once been happy, which might be the reason it took me so long to realize that’s what this was. I thought I was before—here and there, you know. I’d have a good day and think that was as good as it got. But happy ain’t about the good days. It’s about all the fucking days. Even with as much bad as there’s been in the past few weeks, I’ve had you, and that’s made the bad stuff bearable and the good stuff fuckin’ lit. So that’s it. You got me purring for real. And Faith Lehane is signing off.” _But she didn’t sign off. She just paused a moment in thought. _“I love you. And I can’t wait to see if my saying that makes you come as hard you saying it does for me. All I ask is that you take a moment to appreciate the body art. If I have trouble saying that I love you to your face, just look at that and know it. I do plan to say it a lot, though, even if it makes me wiggle. Practice makes perfect, and there ain’t nothin’ that this girl lets slow her down.”_

He dropped the phone and buried his hands in his hands. He’d never cried this hard—not even as a child—and suddenly every fucking tear his body had ever produced came pouring out. All the years he’d held himself back—every mournful memory he’d ever tried to repress—hit him like a shot straight to his soul. He felt himself ripping apart from the inside out. He didn’t try to fight it and just continued sobbing in hopes that it would finally kill him. He honestly thought for a moment he could cry himself to death.

But death would be too easy. After hours, the tears eventually ceased and he was left lying there on the ground more broken and sore and just plain exhausted than he’d ever felt.

“That. Was. Beautiful.”

Dean blinked and looked up to find Lucifer standing above him, staring at him with a gleeful expression that made Dean gag. He tried to sit up—tried to defend himself in any way—but he couldn’t move. Instead, he released a pitiful moan and closed his eyes.

“Kinda wish I’d recorded it—damn, I could’ve submitted it for an Oscar. Any chance I could get you to do it all again? Like now? You’re so in the zone.”

Dean wanted to speak—wanted to tell Lucifer to fuck right off—but words seemed too difficult to formulate now. Now he just wanted to pass out and escape—pretend it was all a nightmare and he was back in bed with Faith. Like that night she’d held him.

“Whatever,” Lucifer grumbled. “Can I at least borrow your phone? Would love to watch that sex tape. You know, for _research_ purposes. Or that one where she touches herself—damn, she sounded hot. Did you actually get to see the fingers on her pussy or just watch her face as she got off?”

Dean found he did still have an ounce of fuck to give as he snatched the phone and clung it to his chest. “_No_.”

“You’re no fun,” the devil teased. Then he shrugged and smiled. “Guess I’ll just have to go see how much Faithy charges for a live performance. Maybe…maybe her boyfriend—_ex-_boyfriend—is worth a ticket to Pound Town.”

Dean tried to laugh, but it came out more a shuddering groan. _That_ wasn’t likely. So as Lucifer vanished from the cage, Dean closed his eyes and let sleep envelop him like a warm hug of relief.


	88. Chapter 88

Willow had a plan. And she knew it would work.

The decision had been surprisingly simple. Not birthed from the despair Michael—or Lucifer, rather—had found her in when he’d first appeared to her, though ultimately the result would be the same. No, that despair was behind her now. What replaced it wasn’t much better, granted, especially in the wake of everything that had happened the night before. But she had clarity now that she hadn’t had when this had started.

She’d failed at closing the Hellmouth and her best friend was suffering as a result of it. She’d failed at, well, everything pertaining to Lucifer, except she had erected the perfect prison for capturing a being of his power. A being of _her _power, she’d realized last night. That had probably been Lucifer’s intention all along. Get her to open the Hellmouth, get her to make a trap, get her to go inside, and throw away the key. How his fascination with Faith played into all of this, Willow didn’t know, except that, if word on the street was to be believed, the Slayer had been resurrected by God himself.

Faith had been chosen by God. Not Willow. It had never been Willow. And hell, after England, after these last two weeks, she could see why. Faith had at least learned from her mistakes—in her haste to correct them, Willow had just made the same ones over again.

Tara had told her once, not in so many words, that magic would be her downfall. That she relied on it too much to fix the things in her life she saw as broken. And she’d been right. Willow’s answer to all of her problems had always been magic. Magic to erase the bad she’d done. Magic to unerase the bad she’d done. Magic to make up for the bad she’d done. All it had caused was pain, pain, and more pain.

There was one thing she could do, though, that might set things to right, and prevent two unstable powerhouses from threatening the world again.

It was simple. She’d just need the same tools she’d used to secure the blood that had opened the Hellmouth. Some Polyjuice Potion and a lock of someone’s hair.

The hardest part of this plan was saying goodbye to Oz and Sam, knowing it really was goodbye. She couldn’t let herself emote too much as she peppered her son with kisses and hugged and loved on him as much she could for the time she had left.

When she turned to Sam, her heart broke all over again. God, how she’d messed up this guy’s life. Josh Lyman had been right all along—she belonged far from the public view. Far from all of them. She was too damn dangerous.

“You know this isn’t your fault,” Sam whispered against her skin as he held her to him. “You were doing what you thought was right.”

She loved him for saying so, even if it was a load of crap. “I was pigheaded and stupid,” she replied. “He had me convinced that literally everyone I knew, including Harry, was brainwashed. Sam, he set my best friend’s mate on fire in front of me. And he’s… There were signs. Like, huge, Vegas-sized marquees telling me I had the wrong of everything. It was my fault thinking that I knew better than everyone else.” She swallowed, buried her face in his chest. “But thank you for trying.”

Sam gripped her by the upper arms and pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “I love you,” he said. “I know things… I know things have been insane, but that phone message you left me has been what’s carried me this far. I still want that. After all this is over.”

She didn’t have to fake her smile, but she did have to keep her lip wobble in check. “I want that too,” she said hoarsely. And she did. She wanted it so badly, but she was not going to get it. Instead, she was going to get what she deserved.

Sam beamed and kissed her, and she let herself get lost in the moment. This last taste of a life she could have had, once upon a time. She poured everything she wanted for Oz into that kiss, every good thought and memory she had. All the things she wanted for Sam, too. A good life, an uncomplicated life if he could manage it, filled with love and happiness and all the success he deserved. She hoped he found it within himself to forgive her one day but accepted that he never might. Most of all, she hoped he told their son how much she loved him, and that while she’d made her share of mistakes, the reason she wasn’t there to watch him grow up was that she’d repaid those mistakes tenfold.

There was a brief window of time between saying goodbye to Sam and Oz and joining Faith and Sam at the 1967 Chevy Impala that both of them seemed to take way too seriously, but she managed to get herself under control.

Which was good, because from this point on, it was all about the game face.

*~*~*

Faith had just loaded the last of the weapons she thought made the most sense for a rescue mission to Hell into Baby’s trunk when it happened. And for the first time since the asshole had introduced himself, she was glad to see him. Ecstatic, really. She just needed to play this cool.

“I really did love that dress, you know,” Lucifer said as he approached from behind. “It did all kinds of things for your ass. Though those jeans are tight in all the right places.”

Faith slammed the trunk shut and whirled to face him, crossing her arms and arching her eyebrows. She just hoped Sam remembered what they’d discussed—they’d both thought it likely that Lucifer might try to approach her if he saw her solo and had agreed she should handle him without interruption. He’d be more likely to play nice with her than his favorite Winchester.

Lucifer grinned at her expression and spread his arms. “What? No hug? You couldn’t keep your hands off of me last night.”

“Two words, jackass,” she replied. “Avada Kedavra. Hogwarts gang got back to town and they got wands on you.”

Lucifer made a show of looking around. “Really? Don’t seem to be lurking about anywhere.”

“Gee. You mean you don’t see them? It’s almost like we planned it that way.”

He let out a little titter. “Oh, Faith. I do love your spirit.”

“Look at my face and tell me I’m fucking around.”

“I’d rather just fuck you.”

“Bitch, I am so done with this shit.” She pushed off the car and stalked toward him, her heart hammering. This was where she needed to call on her acting chops and hope they passed the smell test. “You thought killing the man I love would get you into my pants? Really?”

He pulled a face. “The man you love? Ugh, you have seriously lousy standards. Slayer, love _thyself_ a little more.”

Faith smirked and drew her hand back. “You want me to hit you, dick, ‘cause I will.”

“And what if I told you lover boy is safe and sound, hmm? And that you are the only person on Dad’s green earth that can get him out?”

This was it. Faith tried to ignore how hard her heart was pounding, lowering her fist. “He’s alive,” she replied. “Any reason I should believe that?”

Lucifer held out his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “Trust me?”

“Fuck no.”

“I like at least one of those words. And judging by how hard the boy spanked the monkey, you really gave it good on those two little videos,” he said, looking her up and down. “Since he's greedy with his little boob tube, what to do you say to a live reenactment?”

That stopped Faith cold, her heart lurching.

The videos. Had he finally found the videos? Her eyes started to sting but she reeled it in right quick, determined still to betray nothing.

“Talk,” she said coolly. “And maybe I’ll let Harry go back inside without saying the magic words.”

Lucifer grinned. “Simple, really,” he said. “You have something I want”—he glanced pointedly at her crotch—“and I have something you, for whatever reason, want. I just want that night I talked about, darlin’. Just one glorious night between your sweet slayer thighs and Dean can come home.”

“Really?” Faith replied, blinking. “All this just to get laid?”

He paused, then nodded as though he’d been caught. “Okay, so, I might not have told you the full story there,” he said, chagrined. “What I really want is your uterus.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be a _father_, Faith. I want to be a daddy. And I want you to be a mommy.” Lucifer waved at her. “So…one night you and me, nine months to cook the brat—just a few days up here, really—and you’ll be back, good as new, and I’ll have a little spawn of my own to keep me occupied and well away from anyone named Winchester.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you decide you like playing house with me so much that we become our own little family. Baby boy needs his momma.”

It would have had to have been something like this, she realized. Never as simple as just wanting to bang her, which was disturbing enough, but the devil had an endgame. She wondered idly how her seed birth control would protect her if he decided to take the decision out of her hands, but forced the thought back because it was never going to happen. If he was telling the truth, Dean was alive, and that was all she needed to know. Dean was alive and with Willow, she could get to him. She could bring him home.

But god, she needed proof. She needed something more than the devil’s word.

“I need two things from you before I can even consider saying yes to this,” she said.

“Oh, I do love a good bargain.”

“One—you prove to me that Dean is alive.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Like, what, bring him here? Sorry, not going to fall into that obvious trap, but thank you.”

And she wouldn’t trust him to actually give her Dean, anyway. “Not that. Just…ask him to give me a message. Something I’d know meant he was alive.”

“You two have been together, what, ninety seconds? Is there really anything you can code out?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Faith replied. “Either you can deliver or you can’t.”

Lucifer nodded, stroking his chin. “Okay. And the second thing would be…?”

Painful, that’s what it’d be, but she needed to see for herself. Needed to know exactly how realistic the visual trick Lucifer had pulled had been. While she was more or less at peace with what had happened the previous night, there was part of her clinging to the hurt, the incredulity that Dean could have thought that of her.

“I want to see what you showed him yesterday,” she said solemnly.

That grin was back. She hated it.

“It _was_ a masterpiece,” Lucifer replied. “Came in a fit of brilliance. And I do love showing off good work.”

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly she found herself in the driver’s seat of the Impala, which was rocking slightly to the rhythm of fucking. Not only that, the air stunk to high heaven, and the sounds—gasps and moans and the wet smack of flesh colliding against flesh—coming from the back were nothing short of pornographic. Faith twisted in her seat to find Lucifer beside her, and in her periphery, she caught enthusiastic movement. Her doppelganger bouncing happily on Wes’s lap, making deep throaty noises that sounded familiar.

Fake Faith had a hand on Wes’s chest, the other teasing her own breast through her shirt.

“That’s it,” the fake Faith gasped, quickening her pace.

“Fuck, Faith,” Wes muttered, gripping her hips and pistoning up inside her. “Faith, I love you.”

Faith wrinkled her nose. God, that was just wrong.

“Yes!” her doppelganger cried as she tensed and came. “I love you, too!”

Not as wrong as that, though.

It was awkward as fuck watching this from here but damn, Faith couldn’t deny that it looked real. The illusion was pitch-perfect, from the way the car moved to the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air. Lucifer might not have punched his V card yet, but he knew enough about sex to make the scene beyond realistic.

She reached back to touch her doppelganger’s back, and it was solid. Even feverish. The hum of real skin attached to a real body echoed through her palm, though Fake Faith didn’t react to this sudden intrusion.

Yeah, she understood why Dean had bought this. It hit every sensory level.

Plus, the _I love you_. Lucifer couldn’t have known how perfectly staged this was, he just couldn’t. He might have been tailing her, but he hadn’t been in the room with them at any time. There was no way he could know just how much those words meant to Dean, meant to _her_. To destroy Dean, he wouldn’t have needed the X-rated show at all. All he would have had to do was show her saying those words to someone else.

Her poor ducky. Fuck, once she got him home, she was going to tell him everything she’d been too chicken-shit to tell him in person. Even if it was over for good, even if he was done with her, he deserved to hear it for real just once.

Call her an idiot, though, but sleep and talking to Sam—not to mention the imaginary conversations she’d had with Dean—had all but chased away the voice in her head that told her he’d want her to hit the road if she managed to get him back. That last fight notwithstanding, she couldn’t see Dean showing her the door. His thing was self-hated, and knowing he’d been had by Lucifer had to be killing him.

She thought of how he’d been that day in their room after he’d thrown the bottle at her head, after he’d used her body to exorcise his anger. How he’d sounded after, the horror in his voice, the pain, and regret. That was the Dean she’d bring back.

No, the guy she knew was more apt to be punishing himself worse than Lucifer ever could.

“I’d like to change the channel,” Lucifer said, perhaps seeing she had drifted, and snapped again. At first, Faith thought nothing had happened, then she caught that the sounds coming from whoever her doppelganger was riding weren’t familiar and British, but—

“God, you have such a big cock, Lucifer!” Fake Faith cried out. “It fills me so good! Best dick ever!”

Faith burst out laughing, which probably wasn’t the best way to react to the devil, but Jesus H. Christ, was this guy for real?

“So my dialog could use a little work,” Lucifer muttered, snapping again and suddenly she was back where she’d started, although her legs were a bit wobbly. “Still the world’s best storyteller, baby. So…we have a deal?”

Faith shook her head and forced herself back to the present. “You get me proof that Dean is alive—real proof—and we’ll see.”

“So you get proof and I get a maybe. Need I remind you that I have the hostage, darlin’?”

“It’s a maybe or it’s nothing,” she shot back, the words braver than she felt. Her heart was thundering again. No matter what, she, Willow and Sam were going to the underworld. There was no getting around that. If Lucifer cooperated, they’d have a better sense of direction. “Take it or leave it.”

Lucifer studied her for a long moment. Then, that smarmy grin stretched across his lips again, and he neared to boop her on the nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said, then disappeared.

Faith didn’t know how to take that. If he was going to play along or if that was the end of it.

All she knew was she didn’t want to wait around to find out.

*~*~*

So Buffy had discovered something that made keeping herself entertained and full all kinds of easy. Turned out, demon blood was pretty awesome. And sustaining. And every time her fangs neared any part of Crowley, the little weasel flinched and wiggled, and that was fun too.

Try as she might to fulfill the demand of her inner demon, she found she really had little stomach for torture. Yes, the few times Crowley had gotten mouthy with her that first week, she’d taken to becoming creative with the various sharp objects in his office, and when those didn’t work, an angel blade certainly did. A splash of blood had landed on her lip one day and, unlike regular vampire blood, had tasted…dark and potent. Like a really rare cut of steak, the sort her father used to bring home before he’d turned into a cheating douche and moseyed on out of hers and Dawn’s life. Premium stock. Also unlike vampire blood? It hit the spot. Hell, it more than hit the spot. It left her bouncing with such energy she was surprised she hadn’t torn the walls apart with her bare hands.

The amount of strength it gave her was actually a bit freaky, so she’d slowed down her feedings, though she’d taken to bottling the blood as much as possible. Crowley was easier to manage when he was low on the red stuff. And the little collector had plenty of containers just lying around, begging to be filled.

“You know,” Buffy mused, twirling an angel blade as she stalked in front of Crowley’s limp, pale, hanging form, “I gotta say, for the King of Hell, you don’t seem all that important around here. I mean, how long have we been in here now, hmm? And no one comes knocking?” She placed the tip under his chin to lift his head. “Be honest now. It’s really more an honorary title, isn’t it? Kinda like the Queen of England. All with the ceremonial, pretty much zilch with the actual power.”

“I am going to really enjoy your screams the next time around, darling,” he said, though the words were slurred, exhaustion and bodily stress taking their toll. “You can’t keep this up forever.”

Buffy grinned and leaned in, biting at the air just in front of his face. “You wanna bet? Come on. It’d be fun. I mean, I’m me and you’re you, which means I’m here and you’re there. One of us is a food source for the other. Guess which one! Guess!”

Crowley bared his teeth at her best he could. “Little girl, I will introduce you to levels of pain that—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. “I gotta tell you, blood bag, I am so done with the bad guy spiel. I’ve been doing this, what, twenty years now? It never changes. ‘I’ll introduce you to levels of pain that you never knew existed.’ ‘I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.’ ‘I’ll make you beg for death.’ You guys are lame. And boring. Honestly convinced you resort to torture to overcompensate for your inability to monolog.”

Crowley opened his mouth to come up with what she was sure would have been a stunningly witty retort when a thunderous pounding echoed against the office door. Buffy whirled around, every sense going on alert, and something deep within her—the primal part that had been in mourning these last few months—began to howl its joy.

“Spike,” she breathed and started for the door.

“What?” Crowley said, alarmed. “No, it can’t be.”

“Open up!” Spike roared, pounding harder. “Open up, you bloody gutless wanker. Open and—”

Buffy threw the door open so hard it nearly tore off its hinges—which, considering it was reinforced with dark magic, was saying something. She didn’t realize she was crying until she met Spike’s eyes, until the fury on his face melted into something between incredulity, relief, anger, and hurt.

“Slayer,” he growled, and stalked forward, crushing her to his chest.

Buffy released a small sob and buried her head against his shoulder, her arms going around his neck, angel blade and all. He held her so tightly her bones whined in complaint, but she didn’t care. She could barely believe it. Even with his scent in her nostrils and his skin against hers, it seemed like a dream.

“Bloody hell,” came from behind, and the next thing she knew, the air was rent apart by a roar that seemed to defy the laws of nature itself. She whirled around, not quite trusting herself to maintain balance, and saw Crowley’s mouth open, a pillar of solid black cloud tearing to freedom. She had no idea what she was seeing and stumbled back, but Spike seemed to know and roared forward, launching an angel blade at the departing cloud. But nothing happened—the black cloud filtered through the air vent and the body barely twitched.

“What…was that?” Buffy asked, panting. “What did he do?”

“Left his body,” Spike snarled, rushing over and kicking the vacant human vessel once, twice, before punching it in the face half a dozen times, sending teeth scattering across the floor, breaking the jaw and the nose, and then maybe one of the wrists too.

“Spike.”

“Not yet, love,” he growled, kicking harder. “Liable to bloody throttle you if I don’t get. Some. Of. This. Out.” He roared again and tore the body from the wall with such force the muscles and tendons in the hands, those nailed to the wall by the angel blades, ripped free, leaving behind a dangling mess of flesh. He tossed the body toward the heap where the desk had been, and only then seemed satisfied.

They stood staring at each other for a few moments, each breathing heavy.

“Better?” Buffy asked in a small voice.

“Not even close.” And then Spike was moving toward her, furious eyes flashing yellow, lips pulled into a snarl. He meant it, too. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Spike this angry, not with her. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her or backhand her, screw her or beat her to a bloody pulp.

She had her answer the next minute. Spike shook his head, the bones in his face shifting so his fangs were on display, hiked her back into his arms and took her mouth in a violent, bloody kiss. There was nothing nice about it at all, in fact—it was all anger, stores of it she suspected had kept him moving these last few months. He bit and nicked and tore, and she took all of it. Needed all of it.

At last, Spike managed to get a hold of himself and pulled away, pressing his brow to hers, shifting back to his human face. “Gonna have it out proper when we’re topside again, Slayer,” he said in a low, dangerous tone, one that she shouldn’t be surprised did naughty things to her, but was anyway. Something about him feral spoke to the demon in her chest in ways she doubted she’d ever truly understand.

“I know.”

“I mean it. You…” He shook his head, expelled a deep breath, and she saw he was trying to regain control. “Fuck, I could kill you for what you did.”

“I know.” Buffy leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to his mouth. “But let’s get out of here first, okay?”

Spike studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Right,” he said and looked around the room. “Grab the blades you can and don’t go offin’ every demon we come across. Some we’ll need for eats.”

“I’ve been feeding off Crowley for days,” Buffy said, and moved to the part of the office where she’d stored his blood. “A few for the road?”

“You had this wanker by the short and curlies for days? Why the bleeding hell did you stay here?”

“Because I knew you were coming. Thought I’d make it easy for you.”

Something that might have been a smile tugged at Spike’s lips. “That’s my girl.”

And that was all it took—not that Buffy had been well and truly worried, but the gravity of what she’d done to him, what she’d put him through, was unlike anything that had come before. Over the months, she’d had time to wonder if she’d managed to break something between them forever with that dive. Not that Spike would stop loving her or they’d go their separate ways—she knew well enough to know that wasn’t possible—but that they’d never again be who they’d been before the Hellmouth had opened.

Buffy tossed Spike a few of the containers of Crowley’s blood, slipped what she could carry into the pockets of the dress, and the jars clinked with the orb, reminding her it was there.

“Oh.”

Spike paused by the door. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Buffy pulled the orb from her pocket. “Apparently, Crowley has a thing about collecting souls. This here he got from a Dementor after it was sucked out of Angel.”

Might not have been the best time to mention a previous kidnapper—or boyfriend. Spike scowled, glared at the orb. “Uh huh. And you have it because…?”

“If we can save Angel… Come on, Spike, you know we have to try.”

He rolled his eyes. “Or you could just stake the git. Somethin’ you shoulda done years ago.”

“If it comes down to it, I will. But in the meantime…”

“In the meantime, you’re gonna do your sodding heroics and bugger whatever Spike wants. I got your number all right.” Spike pried the lid off one of the containers containing Crowley’s blood and drained it in one go. “Another thing we’ll have to have out when we—”

Something stumbled outside the door, and both Buffy and Spike went on instant alert, angel blades raised. Then, after a moment, a very familiar, very welcome face filled the doorway.

“Buffy,” Castiel said, panting slightly. He then looked at Spike and dipped his head. “William. This is fortunate. I have been looking for you both.”

Buffy couldn’t help it, though she had the foresight to tuck the angel blade safely away before launching herself into the angel’s arms. Castiel rocked back a bit on his heels, undoubtedly bewildered, and didn’t bother to try and return the hug.

“You are quite strong,” he said with a little wheeze.

Buffy murmured a quick apology and stood back. “Yeah,” she said, grinning. It was finally starting to sink in—she was going home. “Sorry about that.”

Castiel offered a soft smile before shifting his attention to what remained of Crowley’s vessel. “Did you kill him?”

“I don’t think so,” Buffy replied, looking over her shoulder. “I think he just took a hike. Spike busted in and all this black stuff went into the air. Haven’t been around this brand of demon, but I’m pretty sure that just means he vacated the premises.” Which begged the question… “I’ve had him strung up like this for days now. He could’ve gotten loose anytime he wanted.”

“Figure the berk knew I wouldn’t play with him,” Spike growled, putting a hand to the small of her back. “That I’d do him in proper.”

Or he’d realized that Spike’s arrival meant Buffy would _stop_ playing and make good on the threats she’d leveled at him since Day One. He’d known she needed him alive to keep her fed, and he’d known she was waiting for Spike. There had been no other reason to linger after managing to get herself free, after all.

“Buffy,” Castiel said in that super-serious tone of his, “I must know. Do you have your soul?”

She blinked. “Uhh…yeah.”

“So he was able to recover it. And this”—he waved at the empty vessel—“came before you had it restored. That makes sense. Being without a soul affects beings differently.” He nodded at Spike. “As you well know.”

No, it freaking didn’t make sense. “Excuse me?”

Castiel frowned. “Crowley told Faith that your soul was the reason he didn’t return you immediately as agreed.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed dryly. “He wanted it.” She met Spike’s gaze. “He wanted my soul for his collection. Tried to remove it in more ways than I care to remember.”

The fury in Spike’s eyes reignited, and he shot the Crowley vessel a look that begged the demon to return. “What did he do to you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Did he hurt you?”

_Hurt _wasn’t a strong enough word. “Now’s not the time,” she said instead. “Let’s get out of here. I never want to see this room again.”

*~*~*

“Humans are so funny.”

Dean quickly did what was becoming the routine shuffle—end whatever Faith video he was watching and stuff his phone back into his jeans pocket. Not that he had any delusions about keeping the devil from taking it if he really wanted it, but thus far, Lucifer seemed content just to loom the threat over him. Its own kind of torture, in that way—the torture of watching the videos and not being able to respond, and the torture of worry that one day he might not be able to watch them at all.

Lucifer just gave him a wan smile and straddled the chair in the middle of the box. “I mean, you do what you did to her, and she still wants to know whether or not you’re still kicking.”

Fuck, he knew better than to take the bait. He did. But that didn’t stop him from croaking out, “You saw her?”

“Yeah. She looked like she was about to light out of town, but can you blame the girl? Sammy and your momma don’t seem too happy with her. Way they talk, they think all of this was her fault.” Lucifer waved a hand at their surroundings. “Which, I guess, it kinda was.”

Dean closed his eyes and this time kept his mouth shut.

“Good news is, she’s agreed to do it,” Lucifer went on. “Mother my child. On the condition that I can prove your sorry ass is still alive. So cough it up, what would convince her?”

Dean’s eyes shot open, a pain attacking his chest. He glared up at the devil, certain he’d heard wrong. No matter how much he’d hurt Faith, she wouldn’t give herself to him.

Would she?

_Would you sacrifice yourself to save her?_

Yeah, in a fucking heartbeat. But that was different. He loved her. And Faith, whatever she’d felt before this shit-show, had every fucking right to hate him now. He’d taken something as precious as her trust, her goddamn warrior’s heart, and shattered it.

_“Love just leaves you bruised. And I’ve got the scars to prove it,” _she’d sung.

That was what he’d done. Gotten her to love him, then bruised her with it. There was no reason for her to give a shit.

_Was there?_

“Tick tock, Dean-o,” Lucifer said, tapping at his watchless wrist. “I got a slayer to seduce.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, thanks, I’m saving my A-game for her.” Lucifer leaned forward so the back two chair legs tipped. “Let the girl go with a clear conscience, at least. She doesn’t deserve to have your death hanging over her head for the rest of her admittedly short life.”

“Tell her I ain’t worth it,” Dean replied, stretching along the concrete wall. “And if Sammy pops off about her, to pop him in the mouth.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Of course she knows you’re not worth it. But that’s the fragility of the human conscience for you. Doing what you know you shouldn’t for the people you shouldn’t.” He paused, then barked a laugh. “Wait, did you honestly think she wanted to know you were alive because she gave a damn? Oh, Dean. Oh, oh, oh, Dean, that’s just… Well, that’s sad, is what that is.” He rose off the chair and circled around until he was right in front of him, and bent to be at eye-level. “Enjoy those videos. I’ll be tasting the real thing soon. One way or another.”

A cold chill went down Dean’s spine at that. He mustered all the strength he had, which wasn’t much, and glared at the son of a bitch. “You hurt her…”

“That is entirely up to you, my friend.” Lucifer smiled. “So, what’ll it be?”

Give up information that would seal the deal between Faith and Lucifer or sit back and know he’d gotten the woman he loved into a world of pain. Dean broke away, breathing hard, his mind racing. It didn’t make sense. Sleeping with the devil was something Faith would never do, and if she would, it wouldn’t be for him. It’d be for Rose or Nick or Buffy, someone worthy. That she needed to verify he was alive…

Well, Faith didn’t have it in her to be the cold-hearted bitch she thought she was. If she’d loved him ever, maybe she just needed to know for the sake of telling Sam before she left. Sammy and Cass and the others might try to mount up and get him out. Her being able to confirm he was alive might be her way of leaving with her conscience cleared. And he didn’t put it past Faith to lie to the devil.

“Get her a stuffed duck,” Dean said, tears stinging his eyes again. If nothing else, maybe that would tell her something. “And when you give it to her, say this, ‘This little squirt’s name is Rhythm Nation.’”

Lucifer looked dubious. “Really? That’ll do it?” He paused, shook his head. “Humans, man, I tell you. All right. World’s strangest Valentine coming right up.” He rose to his feet and wiped off his hands. “Thanks for playing, Dean. I tell you what—when we make it, I’ll be sure there’s a camera in the room.” He winked. “Add some flavor to that drivel you’ve been watching. When I get her to scream out my name, I’ll flash the camera a thumbs up, just so you know _someone_ in the room is thinking about you.”

And before Dean could gather his strength for a reply, the devil had vanished.


	89. Chapter 89

Sabrina’s mind was reeling as they took off to the weird sorta public entrance to Hell that Sam had described in Nebraska. On the surface it sounded absurd, but Sabrina had spent her entire life within the magical world—finding definitive proof of Heaven and Hell had actually been kinda comforting. Not that it wasn’t all fucked up from the storybook version.

Wesley was mad at her. He’d kissed her goodbye after begging her not to leave, and she knew he thought she didn’t need to go. Problem was that she did need to—she _needed _this moment to prove to herself and the world that she had what it took. To be a good witch. To be an Auror. To be a Winchester. And she was sorry for hurting Wesley—she really was—but not enough to stay. There’s was probably some revelation about her being a shitty girl to date in all that—god knew Wesley wasn’t the first relationship she’d fucked up.

The car was pretty quiet as they made the hour’s drive from the bunker sans for a Bon Jovi cassette that Sam flipped over once. Willow had told them her Polyjuice plan the moment they’d left and everyone accepted it without protest.

Sabrina did have some major guilt though—which was ironic considering _she_ had been working a plan to kill Willow at the start. But that was all conditional on Willow being evil and needing to be stopped. The woman had made some grave and costly mistakes, but her intentions had been pure. Still, it came with a price to pay and Sabrina had to accept that this was their only option now.

They parked the car down a seemingly deserted street in Kenesaw, Nebraska. Sam pointed at an abandoned building as where the entrance was located and Sabrina noted that it had a similar innocuous vibe as many of the MACUSA facilities. NoMajes likely never noticed they were steps away from an opening to Hell—she thought could sense the darkness. As a group, they vacated the car and started grabbing the backpacks they had prepared for the worst camping trip ever.

“And I wonder what you guys are up to.” Sabrina didn’t recognize the voice, but could tell from everyone’s reaction that it wasn’t good. “Are you guys planning a fun little trip down under? Looking for a little koala bear? Maybe a didgeridoo?”

“So you’re here to stop us,” Sam said, turning from the trunk and facing the man. “You gonna try and kill us or just stand and block the door?”

Sabrina turned with her wand at the ready. Nobody was killing anybody without a few spells fired first.

“Hey,” the blond headed man said, pointing a finger at her. “Don’t go trying anything stupid, sweetheart. I come in peace.”

She heard Faith scoff and turned to see her giving her a pointed look. “It’s good, Brina, but keep it on him just in case.” Then she turned her focus to whom Sabrina was now sure was the devil.

Lucifer laughed. “Fuck me!” He slapped his thigh while keeping one behind his back in a suspicious manner. “Sabrina the Teenage Witch? Sabrina _Winchester_? Oh Dad, this is awesome!” He gave her a disgusting once over before biting his lip. “Mmmm. Girl, you fine. And can I say you and Sam totally share the luscious locks gene. If things don’t work out with me and the Faithster,” he said before bringing his hand up like a phone, “call me.”

“If this all has a point,” Faith snapped, “get to it. Or fuck off. Or preferably both.”

“That’s my baby momma,” he said giving Faith a broad smile. “So _feisty_.”

“Sabrina,” Sam said stoically. “Kill him.”

“No!” Lucifer growled and flashed her brother a dirty look. “I come bearing gifts.”

“You got proof?” Faith asked.

“I do.” He shuffled and cleared his throat. After a deep breath, he smirked. “Hold on—gotta get my line right.”

“_Lucifer!_” Sam shouted at him.

The devil sighed and rolled his eyes. “Gotta appreciate the delivery, man,” he muttered. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them with a scowl on his face. “This little squirt’s name is Rhythm Nation.” His voice was deep and gravelly. He held his face a moment before breaking character and grinning at Faith. “How’d I do? Worked on that Dean impression for hours. Thought I really nailed his broody throaty thing, right?”

“That’s it?” Sabrina asked in disbelief. “That’s the proof?”

“_Shit_! I almost forgot,” Lucifer said and shook his head. “Lemme try it again.” He worked his face into a comically angry expression. “This little squirt’s name is Rhythm Nation.” Then he pulled the hand he had been hiding around and revealed he was holding a fluffy yellow stuffed duck.

Faith released an audible gasp. Lucifer seemed pleased by the reaction. “He didn’t tell me the code behind the message, but said this would seal the deal for ya.” He tossed the toy toward the Slayer who caught it and immediately she turned her back to the devil. Sabrina’s heart broke as she saw Faith subtlety cling it to her chest as tears fell down her cheeks. Whatever it meant, the message had been received.

“Yeah,” Sam said in a thick voice that said he also caught a bit of the code. “So, good. We got the proof so now we will contemplate your offer.”

“Sure,” Lucifer said sarcastically. “You’ll do that or just try and work your super-secret plan to go down to Hell and break him from the box. Which is _exactly _what you’re doing since you brought the architect along.” He gave a finger wave to Willow. “Didn’t think I saw you there, Red? Don’t it feel good to be hanging out with your friends again? You’re welcome.”

“We—” Sam began.

“Save it,” the devil cut off. “This plan’s so simple a caveman could do it. Besides, I’ve made a couple of changes. Call them _improvements_ to the box.”

“What?” Willow spoke for the first time.

“Added a chair for one,” he answered casually. “I mean come on? Was I just supposed to stand there while I watched him torture himself watching those videos over and over for weeks on end?” He winked at Faith. “He’s miserable except when he watches those two we talked about. Good thing that thing about hairy palms is a myth. Dude has more whacks under his belt than the mob.”

Faith took a steely breath and wiped her eyes before turning to face him. “You’re just jealous. I’ll never get off thinking of you and you know it.”

“Luckily only one of us has to have a happy ending,” Lucifer sneered. “But if it helps you out, I’ll let you say his name to come. We both know he likes saying _yours_.”

“You’re just fucking sick,” Sam snapped.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t already know, Sammy boy.” He tapped his temple. Then he looked at Willow. “Wanna know my best improvement? Furniture aside—it’s pretty awesome.” He waited a minute in hopes of a verbal reaction before continuing. “Did a little spell-work of my own. Pretty simple, truth be told, but the best ones always are. See, I knew you guys would do the whole rescue mission routine. My safeguard is that the trap only lets one out—Romeo or Juliet.”

“Huh?” Sabrina needed some elaboration.

“Two may enter,” Lucifer said in a dramatic tone. “But only one shall leave.” When everyone stared back at him awaiting more information he scoffed. “Wow, y’all rode the short bus. Dean can leave or Faith can leave, but Dean _and _Faith can’t. Either I keep my baby momma until our bun’s fresh from the oven or I keep someone jacking it in the box. Like I said—simple and easy.” He looked at Faith. “Enjoy figuring out how to break that one to him. I think it’ll be more fun coming from you.”

Then the motherfucker vanished and Sabrina’s heart fluttered. At least the devil lived up to all the biblical hype.

*~*~*

_He was alive_. Faith thought she might’ve felt what it was to hyperventilate as she’d first clung the ducky—her ducky from _her Ducky_. Dean was alive. While she’d acted like it was a sure thing, deep down where she hid her secrets from the world—except from one stupid boy who had dodged through security pretty much instantly the moment they’d first been alone. She was pretty sure he had been scaling the walls to her heart that first night they’d patrolled after her comeback. Even then, he’d been there when the welcome wagon had been off stuck in a rut. The sex was great, but it was the way they had started giving off sparks before he’d stuck his tongue down her throat. He’d been pretty sweet to her—in Dean’s special way. They’d never really evolved into the sweet nothing kinda romance—they both had a more schoolyard bully show you care by being a dick kinda vibe. Which in Faith’s opinion was the best—because the sweet isn’t just nothings, but real shit.

That led her to more hyperventilation after she broke long enough for Lucifer to do his big evil villain reveal. Because if Dean had chosen a ducky over a bottle of Squirt to make his message—if he’d chosen something only _Faith_ would know and not Sam—it meant he was telling her some real shit. She just wasn’t really sure what he meant.

What she _wanted_ to believe was that he still loved her. He still loved her and he was still her Ducky. What had started as a mocking nickname had morphed into her secret term of endearment—almost her little way of showing him love before she could show her love. When he’d rejected the name at the start of their big fight, it had hurt so badly because he was rejecting her highly guarded and seldom-used affection. Then he’d rejected her outright and the name Ducky had become a little more trivial.

Except it wasn’t. Because Dean and she did the nickname game—that was their way they showed people they were special. If you call a guy a name twice, it’s just a name—third time you got an official nickname. He was Ducky. She was Kitty. Those were the rules. So if Dean had chosen a damn ducky, it better well mean he still loved her. If not, the stuffed duck was gonna be stuffed up his ass.

Faith slipped the toy in her weapons bag when nobody was watching. She knew it was stupid because he hadn’t actually picked it out, but it was the first tangible thing he’d ever given her—if food, flowers and money for tattoos and clothes didn’t count—and she was gonna keep it with her every night she didn’t have her Ducky near her.

It was creepy—and fucking cheesy as fuck—the descent into Hell. A long winding stone staircase lit by torches stretched down the wall took them on the journey to the bottom of Hell’s entrance. Once there, more dimly lit torches showed various long passages leading off into the darkness.

“Anybody else notice this is the exact point in the movie you yell at the stupid kids to turn around?” Sabrina asked. “I mean, you know from the start that one or all are gonna die.” She paused. “I’ll shut up now.”

Faith heard Sam laugh and she had to smile in spite of herself. “Dean’s gonna frickin’ love you, Sabrina.” He turned to Faith, still smiling. “Right?”

Apparently love was like Pringles—because once she’d popped she couldn’t stop. She knew in an instant that she loved this Winchester too—the little brother Dean had sacrificed so much of his damn self to raise was now her little big brother. Her heart swelled knowing she finally had a brother to add to her sibling tree—Buffy and Ro had to scoot and make some room. “He takes his horror seriously.” She snickered as a memory popped into her head. “Ask him how well he knows _Chucky. _Like seriously—somebody do it when I’m watching. Unless you film it, which would be better because then I can play it on repeat every time—”

“Faith?” Sam cut in with a bemused expression.

“I’m stalling,” she admitted. “Do we even know which fucking tunnel to take?”

“This one,” Sam said putting at one path.

“No,” Willow said, pointing at another. “I feel my magic. It down this tunnel.”

Sabrina shrieked lightly and whacked Sam’s arm. “That one!” Her hand was shaking as she pointed to a third hallway. This one had three figures walking up at a steady pace.

“Let’s go!” Willow snapped. “I know the one!”

“Lucifer’s cage is down _this_ one,” Sam bit back. “I know from personal experience. How many times have you been down here, Willow?”

“Oh my god,” Sabrina groaned. “Dammit, just _choose _one! Preferably _before_ we have to fight three demons!”

She was right. Faith tossed her back down and took out her machete. “You guys keep with the little pissing match,” she grumbled. “I’m just gonna go kill them three bitches that made us.” Then she charged forward into the tunnel to go confront their first taste of trouble.

Faith stopped approaching about two hundred yards away. As she squinted to get a good visual in the dim firelight, she could almost swear she saw platinum blond.

“Faith?”

While it wasn’t loud, it was so distinct she recognized it immediately. She took off in a sprint and didn’t stop until she had her arms wrapped around the woman’s waist.

“Mind droppin’ the machete, mate,” Spike grumbled. “Just bloody found the wench so don’t need you gettin’ her before my turn.”

Dropping the weapon, Faith just squeezed her harder. “What’s with the dress?” she had to ask.

“It has pockets,” Buffy replied, hugging back just as hard. “Kinda handy. Got lots of cool stuff to show off. I’ll show you as soon as you guys finish rescuing me.”

“Wait,” Cass said to Faith as she let Buffy go. The angel took her arm and directed Faith to look at him head-on. “What’s happened? Why are you here? You haven’t aged so I know it wasn’t enough time to warrant a search for _me_. What has Lucifer done?”

_Shit_. It wasn’t fair that _she _had to tell Cass—literally Dean’s best fucking friend—that the devil had trapped their boy in a box in Hell and that she was to blame. That just sucked balls. “He put Dean in a trap he’d tricked Willow into making for Lucifer. Kinda like the cage from the bad Lucifer/Sam and Dean/Michael days.” She snapped her fingers. “The one you pulled Sam from! Just not like that and more boxy and less cagey.”

Castiel’s eyes flashed electric blue for a second and Faith had to say it startled her. She watched Cass go from meager man to badass angel motherfucker in an instant. She’d have to tell Ducky that she’d found it kinda hot.

“Is it near the cage?” he asked as he started marching toward the entrance of the tunnel.

“Been some debate on that,” Faith told him as she matched his pace. “Sam and Will are figuring that one out.”

“Willow?” Buffy asked.

“Oh,” Faith said, realizing there was more big news to reveal aside from her boyfriend missing. “Yeah, Red’s fresh back from her Totally Tricked by Lucifer tour. She’s sorry. She’s got a plan to fix things. Don’t bother trying to stop anything because you lost that card when you went behind our backs like a stupid self-sacrificing bitch.” She took a breath. “And the devil wants me to have a baby with him.”

Castiel stopped and gaped at her. “He said that? He _said_ he wanted you to mother his offspring?”

Faith swallowed. “Yup. And here all this time I thought it had been my tits. Guess it was my uterus he wanted. I almost feel offended.”

“Nephilims are very dangerous and powerful beings. They’re stronger than even the angel who creates them. Lucifer’s child would carry unspeakable power.”

“Unspeakable is a good word for it,” Faith replied. “Unhappening is more appropriate. Because it ain’t. I could lie and say you turned me off angel dicks, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. More like I’m down to a one dick diet and I’m currently trying to find it. That and I like my uterus nice and empty.”

Spike snickered softly and everyone turned to him. “What?” He shrugged. “She made it sound like she was down here looking for her lost dildo. Not true, but still funny.”

She couldn’t even be mad at him because it felt so damn good to him alive. “Wanna do a girl a solid and give me a helping hand?”

“Seems about right that I get out on a rescue mission on my rescue mission,” Buffy declared. “Which is nice in a way because maybe we can get the rescue stuff over with and not have to make any more Hell trips for a while.”

The reunion had the tunnel base was brief but intense. Sam passed out hugs to everyone—Spike included—while Sabrina introduced herself to the group. Willow hung back, keeping her eyes down on the floor. Buffy kept looking at her, but she never looked up to notice.

“Where we going?” Faith finally asked after recovering her bag.

“Never decided,” Sabrina bitterly replied. “They kept arguing.”

“Why?” Spike questioned.

Faith groaned. “Sammy said the cage was down one tunnel, but Willow said she felt it down a different one.”

“We follow Willow,” Cass declared. When Sam looked at him in shocked betrayal, the angel flashed an apologetic look. “Willow can sense her own magical signature—it came from a part of her. Lucifer might have planted the box away from the cage to be purposely secretive.”

“Works for me,” Faith said and turned to head toward the tunnel Willow had chosen.

“Snack break,” Spike said and Faith turned to give him the stink-eye.

“Dean’s trapped in a box and you got the munchies? Douchewad much?”

“Sorry,” Buffy said, slipping her hand in her pocket. “We’ve been down here a little longer. Besides, think you want your vampires juiced at full charge.” She removed a small bottle and popped the top.

One moment, Faith was smirking at her sister and the next a growl and a shout had her eyes shifting over to Spike—where Sam had suddenly run over and was scrambling to grasp something.

“Bugger off,” Spike howled. “It’s not even human! It came from the Crowley demon.”

Cass flew past her and snatched the bottle of blood from Sam’s hand before thrusting it back to Spike. As he then wrapped Sam in a restraining embrace, a light bulb went off in Faith’s head. “Put them away!” she demanded the vampires. “Or get the fuck back!”

“What?” Buffy asked in confusion. “Not getting the big deal.”

“The _blood_,” Faith said, making her way over to grip Sam firmly by the arm. “No point in explaining the details now—we’ll save it for the post powwow. Just do it.”

The farther they moved away, the more Sam began to calm. Eventually, she felt the tension ease in his muscles and he came down to rapid and shallow breaths.

“Sam?” Castiel asked quietly. “Can I let go?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.” Sam was shaking when he was released, but he didn’t make a wild rush over toward the vampires. “I swear I don’t know what came over me. I saw it, then I smelled it, and then I remembered how much I could do when…” He shook his head. “That was stupid. I don’t know if it’s Hell or Dean or what. I’m good now.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

“Sammy?” Faith questioned. “You know D would be telling you to chill out and take a breather about now.”

“And he can lecture me later,” Sam told her with a ghost of a smile. “Let’s go kick his ass first.”

“I call first dibs,” she warned.

“Obviously.”

*~*~*

Dean didn’t bother looking up when he heard the chair scrape the floor. He paused the video Faith had been commenting on his ass and slipped the phone behind his back and into the waistband of his jeans. He knew time moved differently up there, but he was kinda disappointed that Lucifer hadn’t told him how the message was received. Maybe if he acted uninterested the devil might share some gossip.

“Dean.”

He looked up in open-mouthed shock as he saw the body that matched that voice. “Faith?”

“I’m here to rescue you, silly boy,” she said with a small giggle.

“How? What? Why? How?” His brain was stuck on the one-word questions.

“Because I love you.” She frowned. “Well, I _did_ love you. Before you went and decided to break my heart by not trusting me. Now I’m here because I’m the Slayer and it’s my job to save assholes who don’t deserve it.”

He didn’t. “Faith,” he croaked as he struggled to stand. “I’m so sorry. Words can’t even convey how _sorry_ I am. I know you can’t ever forgive me, but—”

“You’re right,” she snapped. “I can’t. So let’s go. To get out of here you have to run headfirst into that wall,” she said, pointing at the far side of the box. “Like they do in those _Harry Potter_ movies.”

“Seriously?” Dean thought that sounded pretty dumb considering he’d searched the place top to bottom looking for a crack.

“Willow made the box,” Faith explained and that did enough convincing for him. The damn woman taught at Hogwarts.

“So we just run right at it? Where do we hit?”

“Just follow me.” Faith took off and slipped out of sight, smack in the center of the wall.

Dean blinked in disbelief before shaking his head. “Here goes.” He ran forward and charged the wall with all his might.

He wouldn’t get to focus on the fact Lucifer had just tricked him _again _until after he woke up from his concussion.


	90. Chapter 90

Faith gave Sam just enough time to brood before jogging to fall into place beside him. “You doin’ okay?”

He looked at her askance, then shook his head and huffed a laugh. “I’m still a little weirded out by how much he’s told you,” he replied. “You just kinda rolled with it back there.”

“Ain’t much that shocks me, think you’ll find.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” He was quiet for a moment. “Just…all of that when it happened was…well, it wasn’t easy to come back from. Addiction wise or as brothers, because Dean…”

“I know.”

“And that weirds me out. You know Dean isn’t exactly the sort to open up.”

Yeah, well, maybe before her. Maybe not with other people. And it wasn’t like he’d spilled all the beans at once. Though the time they’d had together had been a blink, all told, it felt longer. They’d done enough talking and commiserating to make up several relationships, she figured.

“Think there at the start we were tryin’ to scare the shit out of each other so the other one would take a hike,” Faith muttered. “Liked him a bit too much from the start and after the last time, that seemed like a good way to piss away my third lease on life. Fucking’s one thing, you know, but all the other shit gets messy. So he’d pull some story about how he was fucked beyond the telling of it and I’d shoot back with one of my own, like we were trying to outdo each other or some shit. Anyway you’re screwed up, I’m screwed up more.” She snickered and shook her head. “Ain’t love grand. So that’s how that came out. He had his bad stories and messed up shit and I had my bad stories and messed up shit, and every time he told one, he expected me to declare him the winner and make for the door. I know ‘cause I expected the same. We’d just end up fighting over who was the worse screw up and then fuck it out.”

Sam chuckled. “Things I never needed to hear, just for the record.” He paused. “And the time he threw Crown at your head?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Is no one ever gonna let that go? Honestly.”

“I’m just curious.”

“If Dean had _really_ thought he would actually hit me, that bottle never woulda left his hand. He threw it because he knew he wouldn’t. Maybe not up top, but deep down? I fucking told him to do it because I knew he needed to break something. I knew it’d snap him out of it.” Well, that wasn’t quite what had happened—he hadn’t come back to himself until after he’d fucked the shit out of her. But she remembered well the horror on his face, the way he’d looked at the hand that had tried to hurt her like it had betrayed him. “That was never about me—I saw what he needed and I told him to go for it. Good thing about fucking a slayer is you’re never gonna be the thing that hurts her the most.”

Of course, that was leaving out the pain that had nearly killed her the night before, but that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with heartbreak. But here she was, not twenty-four hours later, marching into Hell to get her ducky back.

“And if it had hit you?” Sam asked quietly.

Faith shrugged. “Then I’d have been wrong. And Dean woulda felt like shit. More than he did anyway.”

“But would you have stayed?”

She snickered and jerked her head at the vamps trailing them. “You know Spike’s gonna try and tear B apart when this is over, don’t you?”

At this, Sam blinked, horror filling his eyes. “What? No, he—”

“He loves her, yeah. Big, gross, sick kinda love. The forever kind.”

“Thanks ever so, pidge,” echoed from behind, followed by Buffy’s snort.

“Well, it’s true, ain’t it?” Faith fired back, nonplussed. “Way it is with them,” she said to Sam. “Vamps, anyway. And slayers are cut outta the same mold. Sometimes you just need to let it out, ‘cause you can’t talk shit down. Might come a day when I get so pissed Dean decides that what I really need to do is hit someone and he’s the closest thing available. Hope not, because he breaks a fuck load easier than I do, but I could see him doing it.” That was if they were still a thing after this was over. She could see her Dean, the Dean pre-Lucifer’s mindfuck doing it in a heartbeat. The stuffed duck in her weapons bag told her that her Dean was who waited for her at the end of the tunnel, but she wouldn’t count her chickens—or her ducks—just yet. “Guess what I’m sayin’ is you’re gonna be hard-pressed to find someone who understands how sometimes you need violence better than a slayer.”

What she didn’t add was that she worried about Ro in all of this, because the girl would realize it someday. She was still young and naïve in so many ways, and things were all the more dangerous for her because she didn’t believe it. True, most teenagers lived with the idea that they knew best and everyone who said otherwise was kidding themselves, but it was different with Ro. Ro believed she had a leg-up because of her upbringing, because she’d been fighting demons and vamps and all kinds of scary things since she could walk. And yeah, that helped her in a lot of ways, but it also gave her confidence she hadn’t earned in addition to a lack of appreciation for her Calling. In her world, nothing had changed except now she had superpowers backing her up.

There were reasons slayers went for vamps or men like Dean. They understood darkness and death like few people could, and the Slayer’s life was truly a dark one, nipped constantly by death. Nick had been around dark but he’d never been it, and there might come the day when his inability to understand on a primal level the struggle each slayer went through drew a wedge between him and Ro. She hoped not—Nick deserved happiness and Ro would find no one who loved her more than that boy, but in time, Ro might find herself restless.

Or maybe that was just shit, but Faith didn’t think so. She figured one day soon Rosalie would get the wakeup call she needed to really appreciate how much her life had changed and start questioning every decision she’d made.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam said, drawing her out of her thoughts, “I’m…I’m glad he has you.”

Faith shook her head and aimed him a grin. “No longer think I worked some voodoo?”

It was dark, but she could have sworn she saw him blush. “No,” he said, laughing. “No, and that was…dumb. I’ve just never seen Dean with anyone the way he is with you. It, well…”

“Weirded you out?” That seemed to be his go-to phrase at the moment.

“Yeah. But I get it, I think. And you get him.” Sam glanced at her. “He said you did, you know. Yesterday morning. He said it was different with you—more than anything he’s had before _because _you get him.”

Faith’s throat tightened. “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

“You know how this’ll go, right?”

“Know how I want it to go. Ain’t gonna bank that’s the way it will. Been around the block a time or two.”

Sam reached over and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “You know how we are about family,” he said. “And like it or not, you’re in it now.”

“Aww, Sammy, don’t make me cry.” Though she meant literally—her eyes stung a bit and she didn’t want him to notice.

He chuckled and leaned closer. “That should’ve been a big clue for both of us from the start.”

“What?”

“I only let family call me ‘Sammy.’”

*~*~*

Addiction was a thing that never went away. Sam understood this on an intellectual level. There was no cure for what he craved, no matter how dormant the craving might be. The past few years, he’d been fine getting through days without yearning for the rush demon blood could give him. But it was always there, lurking, in the corners of his mind. Whispering, particularly when the going got tough, just how easy things would seem if he had a little swallow. Surely one couldn’t do too much damage.

But the recovering addict in him knew better. One swallow could be the difference between life and death, and that was literal.

He knew this, knew it was a bad idea, yet saw himself approaching Buffy anyway after Willow had declared she was too exhausted to continue walking for the day. He hated the thought of leaving Dean a moment longer, but also knew that they needed their witch at top-strength in order to pull off this rescue. He purposefully set his things as far from the vampires as possible to avoid temptation. Talking with Buffy now had nothing to do with the blood, he told himself. Nothing. He cared about her and wanted to know what had happened.

That, of course, didn’t explain why he double-checked that Faith was curled up on the ground before he moved, the little yellow duck Lucifer had given her cradled close to her chest. Or why he’d waited until Castiel and Willow were so involved in their conversation so as not to notice him move.

He had no intention of doing anything he shouldn’t. None whatsoever.

Buffy regarded him with a wan smile when she saw him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, drawing to a stop by her. “Where’s Spike?”

“Doubled back to eat. He didn’t wanna, but I thought it best.”

“Don’t you need to eat?”

“I will later. I’d actually just eaten a lot after Spike found me. Like a lot.” A pause. “Sam, your friend Crowley—”

“He’s not a friend.”

“Well, whatever he is, you should know that I am going to kill him.”

She said it so calmly, with such assuredness, he was somewhat unnerved. He wasn’t used to hearing those words spoken like that—usually, there was yelling involved. Or emotion of some kind. This was just a fact. A thing that was going to happen.

Sam swallowed. “What did he do to you?” Though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“He convinced me jumping into the Hellmouth was the answer to our problems,” Buffy replied. “And, can I just say I am super confused why Hellmouths are even a thing if there’s a freakin’ entrance to Hell in Nebraska?”

He chuckled a bit at that. “Hellmouths are breaches, from what I’ve read. Like when a zipper is stressed too much and breaks. But what do I know? I’ve only been a watcher for two months.”

“You know a lot.”

“Still learning.”

“Aren’t we all.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “Crowley was right about my blood but didn’t bother telling me what his finder’s fee would be for stopping the apocalypse. He wanted my soul.”

Once she said it, Sam felt stupid for needing it spelled out. Of course, Crowley had wanted her soul—that was his thing, collecting souls. The soul of a slayer would be a boon to any collection. The soul of a _sired _slayer? He didn’t want to think about it.

“He didn’t get it,” Buffy continued somewhat dryly. “But he spent weeks trying. First by magic and then later…” She crossed her arms. “There were tools. A rib-spreader, for one thing.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah. He did everything he could without dusting me. And even after he gave up, he’d sometimes do it again just because he got pissy.” She worked her throat. “But he decided he was going to just keep me. He fed me blood—human blood—to keep me strong for the times he’d start trying to yank the soul out again. And he was dumb about it. Demons like him always are. I eventually broke loose and was able to keep Crowley subdued until Spike arrived, which is why we have all the blood. Without him there to feed me, he became lunch.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. He was horrified. Not entirely surprised, but horrified just the same. “Buffy… I am so s—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “Don’t be sorry because I was the idiot. It seemed so perfect, his solution, and Cass signing off was just… I didn’t want to think of other alternatives, because this one was readymade for us. And even though I’m mated to a vampire who excels in double-crossing and evil schemes, I still let Crowley snow me. That’s entirely on me and no one else. And Spike… What Faith said earlier is right.” He had to somewhat admire the way she blatantly owned the fact that they had listened in. “Once this is all over, there’s going to be a fight. A big one.”

“But he won’t hurt you. He loves you.”

“He might hurt me because he loves me.”

“You realize how fucked up that is, right? You sound like a battered wife.”

“I’m not battered,” Buffy replied. “This isn’t about him trying to dominate me or cow me or control me or _own _me. It’s about the demon needing to get out its rage, and there’s only one way to do that. Odds are good I’ll hurt him too.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry about the blood.”

That remark felt a bit too much like she was peering into his head. Sam took a step back, alarmed. “What?”

“You’re an addict, aren’t you?”

Okay, his girlfriend was one thing, but Dean had no business spreading that around to just everyone.

“Don’t get all pissy,” Buffy said, holding up a hand. “No one told me anything. I was just able to put two and two together. Spike did first, granted, but he told me and it made sense.”

“I—”

“Vampire blood is the same. The first time I was kidnapped, when Angelus had me at Wolfram and Hart, Spike fed me some of his blood to help heal some of my more serious wounds. Told me that it was addictive and he wouldn’t let me get hooked, but that some vamps liked getting humans high on blood just to watch them go through withdrawal.” She offered a wan smile. “Made sense that if vamp blood did that, demon blood could also be addictive.”

Yeah, and he kind of hated himself for wanting a taste of that, too, though he doubted the properties were related. Demon blood had amplified his abilities tenfold. There was little chance vamp blood would do the same, but damn, he was curious.

Which meant it was best to get away from her now. Foolish as it had been to come here at all, he could still do the right thing.

Sam spread his arms for a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said, meaning that wholeheartedly. “Especially for Dawn. She’s been holding up but it’s been…difficult. Especially with everything else.”

Buffy folded her small, deceptively strong body against his and squeezed—just a hair more than was comfortable, but he didn’t complain. Because that hug enabled him to dart a hand inside her dress pocket and seize one of the containers before his mind could talk him out of it. And when he pulled back and stuffed the container in his pocket, he didn’t feel the sting of conscience that he should have. No, he didn’t feel anything but the hard hammering of his heart, the bells going off in his mind, and the flirtatious hint of what might come next.

“I better get some sleep,” he said. “Thank Spike for me when he gets back. It is best I’m not around the stuff.”

Buffy nodded. “You realize once we’re back home, I’m going to want to know what all I’ve missed.”

“We’ll be more than glad to catch you up,” he promised.

*~*~*

They walked a good way after waking up, no one having much idea how long they’d slept. And Faith wasn’t slowing down for anyone this time. She’d drag herself by hand if she needed to. Dean was not going to spend one more goddamn second in this place.

Then it was over. The tunnel broadened and Willow announced that she recognized the surroundings. And they were there.

Faith wasn’t sure what she expected. Even after hearing Willow’s description of the trap as a box, she’d had a hard time visualizing what Dean’s prison might look like.

Indeed it was a cube. A big hunk of cement standing in the middle of a Hell tunnel.

And her ducky was inside.

Faith dropped the weapons bag and approached the cement block, trembling from head to foot. “Get him out,” she said, her throat tight. “Whatever you need to do, do it now.”

Willow edged forward, her expression hard to read. And for a moment, Faith worried the redheaded bitch was going to go back on their deal. If that was the case, Sabrina was going to _stupefy _her ass, perhaps place her under the Imperius Curse to get her to go the rest of the way. This was something they’d decided that morning—or whatever time it had been—having been the first to stir.

“She starts to get cold feet, we gotta plan?” Faith had asked in hushed tones.

“I’ll manage,” Sabrina had muttered. “I am not going to get my brother out of that prison just to stick you in it. I’m pretty sure he’d kill me.” A pause. “Wes wouldn’t be too happy, either.”

That had Faith going still. “Hey, you know—”

“Yes, I know.” Sabrina had offered a half-smile. “Not saying I love the idea that you and my boyfriend have this whole messy history, but I am, in fact, an adult woman and will get over it. Also.” She’d looked a little uncertain, but soldiered on anyway. “He told me that seeing you that morning, seeing how happy you were, made him realize he hadn’t been in love with you after all. Which I know is—”

“Fuckin’ A, he wasn’t,” Faith had replied. “He had guilt for what he did and romanticized shit that was fucked up. He never looked at me the way he looks at you. And I’m glad—means what he feels for you is real and I won’t have to kick his British ass for fucking over my bo—with Dean’s sister.”

Sabrina had caught her slip but hadn’t called her on it. Instead, she’d just offered a shoulder pat before sharing her plan.

Thankfully, though, it didn’t seem that Willow had cold feet after all, which had Faith breathing a sigh of relief. Forcing the witch seemed a bit closer to what the Faith of old had done, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out if she’d have gone through with it. This Faith had something to live for.

She thought. She hoped.

“It will be best not to overwhelm him,” Castiel said. “If he has been truly isolated, too many people in the box may trigger his flight or fight senses.” He gestured at Sam. “You should go first.”

Sam looked to Faith. “No, I think—”

“Sammy,” she said softly, “it’s fine.” Honestly, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself not to start bawling like a goddamned baby when she saw him and needed a moment.

He firmed his jaw then nodded, and released a deep breath.

Willow stepped back from the wall, the outline of a door now present against the cement. “Just press against it,” she told Sam. “It will open for you.”

Sam nodded and pressed forward, shaking. He placed his hand on the outline and pushed. In an instant, it faded and he disappeared inside.

Faith held her breath, her heart thundering.

“Dean?” she heard Sam say. “Dean, it’s me. It’s over. We’re going home.”

There was nothing for a moment. Then, “Sammy?”

At the sound of his voice, her chest lurched and she couldn’t keep her legs from moving. She rushed across the threshold and into the room, and though it hadn’t been that long—truly—her heart squeezed when her gaze landed on Dean.

He was huddled in the far corner, his hair shaggy, a full, unkempt beard stretching his face. He was staring at Sam with wary suspicion, and when he saw her, his eyes went wide and he jerked to his feet.

“No,” he said, his voice strong now, and trembling. “Not this shit again. I ain’t running into any more goddamn walls, Lucy. Give it up.”

Well, that made no sense. Faith swallowed and looked to Sam, then back again. “Dean, we’re here to take you back.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, shaking his head. “No, no, no. Go fuck with someone else’s mind, you twisted son of a bitch. I ain’t playin’.”

“Dean,” Sam said, “it’s not a trick. Time to get out of Poughkeepsie.”

This must have meant something because Dean snapped his eyes back to his brother, and the disbelief on his face started to melt. “Sammy, you’re really here?”

Sam nodded. “Let’s go.”

Faith, fueled by adrenaline, edged forward to take one of Dean’s arms, but he jerked back against the wall when she approached.

“Sammy, you better run,” Dean said in a low voice, his eyes not leaving her face. “Lucifer knows you’re here. If she’s here.”

“Dean, that’s Faith.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, his voice choked now, tears in his eyes. “It’s Lucifer. He’s fucking with my head. Got me to crash against the goddamn wall. That was the first. And he musta liked the show ’cause they just kept coming.” He clenched his jaw. “I am not falling for that bullshit again.”

God, she was going to kill the motherfucking devil. Faith released a steady breath, held up her hands. “Ain’t bullshit. Got the real deal right here, whether you want her or not.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

“Dean, she—”

“Sammy, haul ass. If he catches the both of us—”

“Goddammit, Ducky, if he’s fucking with _your _head, why can little brother see me, huh?” Faith snapped. “What the hell would the point of that be? Sammy would know somethin’ was up if I just popped outta thin goddamn air.”

Dean staggered forward, the look in his eyes somewhat manic. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re not seeing things so let’s hightail it. Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”

He stared at her, breathing hard, and narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what you said. Say what you said.”

What the hell had she said? Faith blinked and looked to Sam, who seemed just as bewildered as she did. She released a deep breath, fighting for patience. Should have fucking known Dean wouldn’t make any part of this easy. “Do you have someone take minutes on every damn rescue mission? ’Cause I gotta tell you, Ducky, that—”

A strangled sob erupted from his throat and the doubt in his eyes, the suspicion, melted without a fight. He edged another step toward her, and the way he looked at her had every damn hard edge in her softening.

“Fay,” he said, his voice cracking. A tear spilled down his cheek and was followed by another. Then another. “Fay, I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry.”

And it hit her, as she moved forward to throw her arms around him, what he’d needed to hear. He moaned and squeezed her to him, shuddering with hard sobs. She buried her face in his shoulder and, for the first time since all this shit had started, let herself relax.

This was it.

“Does this mean I get to call you that again?” she asked in a soft voice. “’Cause that’s one habit that I don’t think this kitty can break.”

He squeezed her tighter, shuddering harder. “Every. Damn. Day. Every day.”

God, she had to get out of here now before she fucking lost it. “More later,” she promised. “For now, what do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

It was slow going, but Dean pulled back and graced her with a watery smile. Then, in his typical Dean fashion, he seemed to shake everything off. “I’m not even ashamed it’s you savin’ my ass,” he said, grinning through his tears. “Probably because you're the coolest of the slayers.”

“Fuckin’ A,” she replied, and when he held out his hand for a high-five, she answered it without thought. It was habit, instinct, and theirs—something they’d started doing without ever talking about it, without defining what it meant, and the second her hand hit his, the things that had been holding her together shattered. Faith covered her mouth, but not in time, hot, burning tears spilling down her cheeks as the weight of the last two days collapsed around her.

She was really here, really with him. And she was going to take him home.

The next thing she knew, Dean had pulled her to him again, pressed his lips to her brow, his beard scratching against her skin. “Keep clawing, Kitty,” he murmured. “Not 'til we make it out. Remember, you got to save my ass to call it a victory.”

Right. That was right. Now was not the time to be the girlfriend. It was time to be the Slayer. Faith nodded, wiped at her eyes, and got herself under control. Then whirled around and caught Sam staring at them like he’d never seen either one of them before.

“Pick your jaw up, Sammy, we got tracks to make,” Faith said, and laced her fingers through Dean’s. Except when she got to the doorway, they met resistance, and she remembered the second part.

Dean eyed it up and down. “Kitty, you better not have risked your ass to get yourself trapped too.”

Faith squeezed his hand, then gave him a gentle nudge—or a not-so-gentle nudge—and sent him out to freedom. “It’ll be my ass, but it won’t be me,” she told him.

Sam held up his hands as Dean scrambled and tried to run for her. “Faith! No, goddammit, you can’t—”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam told him. “She’ll be fine.”

“No. Son of a bitch, Fay—”

Then Willow stepped in front of him and his protestations ceased. Faith couldn’t hear what was being said but understood the witch must be explaining her plan. When she turned to walk toward the box, her expression was cool and resolved. Even still, it wasn’t until she was over the threshold that Faith allowed herself to believe that this was going to go the way Willow had spelled out.

Willow pulled two stoppered vials out of her pocket. “It’s weird,” she said, “and I’m not sure how it affects Muggles. Just warning you.”

Faith nodded and plucked a few hairs from her head. The redhead plucked out one. Willow handed over the hair, the vial, and took the hair from Faith in turn. Together, they popped the vials open and added the last ingredient.

The stuff smelled like vomit and didn’t look much better.

Willow studied her potion for a moment, then squared her shoulders and looked up. “Tell Sam—_my _Sam—that I’m sorry. That I do love him and I want him to run for president. I want him to blow them all away.” She released a deep breath, her own tears starting to spill. “Tell him to love our son for the both of us, and make sure Oz grows up knowing his mommy did the right thing in the end. Can you do that?”

Fuck. Faith nodded. Now that she was here, it seemed damn unfair to let Willow do this. Much easier hating the bitch when Dean was gone.

But Castiel had said Nephilim were stronger than their parents. And Willow, unlike Faith, stood a chance of keeping Lucifer at bay. She had firepower that scared him.

It was that she clung to, not the selfish cadence of her heart, the heart that wanted to go to Dean and pick up where they’d left off. Tell him all the things he deserved to hear.

“Bottom’s up,” Faith said, lifting her vial before she could talk herself out of it. Then she shot it back with practiced ease. The taste barely had time to settle in her mouth, but what did had her wanting to heave. She dropped the vial just as Willow tossed her own back, and experienced the trippy sensation of watching her own face erupt on someone else’s head. So entranced by the transition that Faith didn’t realize her own change had taken her over until she reached out to touch Willow’s—_her—_hair and saw a manicure she definitely hadn’t bought for herself.

She glanced down. Faith’s clothes on Willow’s body were a little tight. Whereas Willow’s clothes on Faith’s body were baggy.

“We better change,” Faith said and stripped off her top.

Willow eeped and shoved Faith back.

“What?”

“I know I’m not going to see them again, but I really don’t want all my parts”—Willow waved a hand at her—“on display for everyone. And I’m guessing you don’t either.”

Faith offered a half-grin. “Right. I forgot you’re the modest type.”

It took five minutes to change, then Faith, wearing Willow’s skin and her clothes, pushed outside the door and stumbled back into the cavern.

“Willow?” Sam asked uneasily. They had agreed to this—to call her Willow in case Lucifer turned wise. She’d left Willow with enough of her hairs to keep her in a Faith suit for at least a day, maybe longer, depending on if she split the ingredients in half.

“Yeah,” she drawled, making a face. “Damn, I sound fucked up.” She leveled a look at Sabrina. “How long this shit gonna last?”

“On a NoMaj, I don’t know,” Sabrina replied. “It wears off us in about an hour.”

“Let’s hope the trap is sprung by then,” Faith muttered.

“Any different from when it was us?” Buffy asked. “You still smell like you.”

“That ain’t creepy,” Faith replied. “And I gotta say I preferred that method. Didn’t leave a shitty after taste.”

“Hey.” Dean shuffled toward her, looking her up and down. Then, lower, he said, “You really in there, baby?”

“Quack quack,” she muttered, and he smiled again.

“Had to check. Still not sure this ain’t an elaborate hallucination.”

“People of the world unite,” she said to the others, her eyes not leaving his. “Strength in numbers we can get it right.”

“All right, all right, ain’t that slow a learner,” Dean said.

“Yeah. How long did it take you to find the videos?”

“Trust me, we’re gonna talk about that.” He pressed a hand to the small of her back and prompted her forward. “For now, Kitty, let’s march.”


	91. Chapter 91

Dean had to admit that it all still felt like a dream. At least until the muscle cramps in his legs started getting to him. He didn’t know how long they had walked, but he didn’t have much left in him. Something about being in a box for months on end had zapped his endurance. “I should have worked out more,” he gasped as he braced himself against the tunnel wall to keep from collapsing.

“Dean?” He heard Sammy’s concerned voice and blew it off with a flip of his hand.

“I’m good,” he huffed, clutching his chest as his legs trembled. Then he tried like a dumbass to walk it off and felt his knees buckle, sending him crashing toward the ground.

“Easy, big boy.” Strong arms wrapped around him and kept him from falling before pinning him back to the wall. It was still fucking freaky knowing that his girlfriend currently looked like Willow—at least the chick who had been his girlfriend.

“I’ve imagined a lot of kinky shit with you, but this one ain’t on the list.”

“Good to know.” At least he could recognize the smirk and wink. “Though I bet we could have fun with a wand.”

“You do know we’re still trying to escape?” Sam scoffed.

“Just taking a breather,” Dean groaned. “You guys go on ahead.”

“Not how this works,” Spike said before marching forward and lightly pushing Faith aside. He seized him by the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Bloody hell, would have thought you’d be lighter after months with nothin’ to nosh.”

“No worries,” Dean grunted as Spike took off down the path. “I didn’t need that last shred of dignity, anyway.”

After an hour or two, Spike needed a break and Dean was ready to try his legs again. The Polyjuice had worn off and Faith was truly Faith once again. When Spike announced he needed a drink, Dean noted how Sam and Cass took off ahead.

Faith must’ve caught his look. “They’re drinking demon blood.”

“Cool?”

“How hard did you hit your head against the wall?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Hard enough it ain’t funny yet.”

Her eyes darted up to where Sam and Cass’s figures were rapidly fading. “Sammy had a bad reaction. Almost fell off the wagon for a moment,” she said quietly.

“Shit,” he said, living up to his slow learning. “Did he…”

“No. Cass and I got them back and him under control. Not sure if it was Hell or the stress or what that made him make a lunge right at Spike’s bottle. He seems to be better now, but we are playing it safe till we get home.”

“Yeah.” If he didn’t already love her, knowing she’d been there to have Sammy’s back when he couldn’t probably would have done the trick. “Thank you,” he croaked.

“Didn’t do that one for you. Kinda grown fond of the giraffe. Didn’t need him going and doing something that would make me have to kick his ass.”

“Still, thanks. I may not deserve it, but he sure does.”

Her eyes darkened. “We ain’t doing this here, D. We can start the blame game when we get home.”

He nodded. It was better this way—pretending there was still a chance she loved him made getting out of Hell more desirable. If she broke up with him now, he’d just be resigned to go back to the box and save Willow.

“Let’s go,” Faith said and she took his hand. Sparks flew through him at the touch and he felt his exhaustion melt away for the moment.

“Lead the way.”

*~*~*

Lucifer’s excitement overtook him when he saw her. He bounced up and down, clapping. “I _knew_ it! I just _knew _you’d take one look at that sad sack of Winchester and go all self-sacrificing. Can take the slaying from the girl, but not the girl from the Slayer.”

She backed away at the sight of him, pressing herself against the wall.

“Come on!” he teased. “Don’t go all meek and shy on me now! Let’s get in some of that rough kinda foreplay. Unless,” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Is this how you and Dean do it? You like the guy to take charge or what?”

Her silence kinda annoyed him.

“You know the quicker we get this over with, the quicker you can go home.” Then he looked around and realized his mistake. “Of course! I’m such a jerk!” He snapped his fingers and made a big fluffy bed appear in the center of the room where the chair had once been. “Can’t have you just lying there on the floor.”

She eyed the bed before looking back at him with the same quiet trepidation. Now he was getting pissy. “What else do you need? Candlelight? Some Enya?” He took a step toward her. “This whole thing,” he said, gesturing at her, “kinda a turnoff. I know from your videos that you’re a dirty talker. Gimme some of that.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she said at last.

“Yeah, uhh, that isn’t as much _dirty _is it is _mean_. Try again.”

“You lied and manipulated and did unspeakable evil.”

He sighed. “You really keep missing it. Try saying something like—”

“You made Buffy and Spike end up in Hell. You sent Dean to Hell. You _opened_ the Hellmouth. You pretended to be Michael and—”

“I don’t need a list, sweetheart. But I gotta admit, I do enjoy hearing it. If you’d like I can tell you some of my other crimes. It’ll definitely help get me in the mood.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she said again.

“You can’t kill me—only Dad or an archangel wielding one of their blades. So unless you got someone hiding in your pants—”

A burst of magic flew from her fingertips so hard and so fast he had no time to prepare. He crashed into the wall just as another burst hit him again. Wave after wave pummeled him and he used all his might to deflect, slowly gaining enough opportunity to crawl back to his feet.

“_You_.” A ball of magic hit him in the chest. “_Evil_.” Another blast. “_Mother_.” And a third wave. “_Fucker!_”

His eyes glowed red as he worked to absorb the energy. “Willow,” he hissed. “Polyjuice is cheating.”

“_Lucifer_.” Venom dripped from her voice as she used his real name.

“Damn right I am.” He laughed. “You know what I’m going to do right after I kill you? First I’m gonna go find Faith and knock her up—knock her out if I gotta first. But then…” He released a low chuckle. “Then I’m gonna kill that Sam fella. The one you left that sweet little message for. Did I tell you how he called you right after? Yeah, I totally fucked with your phone. Even did a little voice thing on him. Boy didn’t buy it, so I broke your mobile.” He relished the fury on her face. “But before that—killing your Sammy—I’m gonna rip your little Oz to shreds. Won’t even have enough to scrape off the walls. I’ll make Daddy watch and tell him it’s all because Mommy was a little bitch.”

He realized a moment too late he had underestimated Willow. It was dumb on his part because he’d known she was powerful enough that he’d had this trap built to freaking contain her. Bursts of pain shot through him that he had never endured—it felt as though she was electrocuting him. He worked in vain to try and deflect, but too much was coming too quickly.

The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was her black eyes glaring back at him.

*~*~*

“You know you’re not going to eat the baby.”

“Zack,” Kelly berated. “Stop it.”

“If you guys seriously think this conversation is gonna allow her to hold my son—”

“She’s just being silly,” Zack told Sam. He looked to his brother for support as they chilled out in the library, awaiting news. “Tell him Kelly won’t eat the baby.”

Wright shrugged and took a sip of beer. “I named my daughter after her. Kinda says it all there.”

“Exactly,” Zack agreed. “You don’t name your kids after bad people, Kel.”

“You guys didn’t see me,” Kelly said softly. “I hurt Dawn. I attacked Faith and I was…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Zack, I tried to hurt your Rosie.”

“I know,” Wright said simply. “But Rosalie is a big girl now. And Dawn was an accident. And Faith can handle a bite. Not her first and won’t be her last. Plus, she got some payback when her boyfriend shot you in the back. All’s well that ends well.”

“You do realize how fucked up that all sounded?” Sam asked dryly.

“You’re in it now, Seaborn,” Wright replied. “Better start getting used to fucked up now that you’ve joined the family.”

“Still not letting her hold the baby,” he said, gesturing at Kelly.

“Nobody is holding the baby since Dawn took him,” Rosalie announced as she walked into the room. “She just called in for the night and locked herself and Oz in Sam’s room.” She looked at the governor. “Other Sam. There’s a lot of double names around here. We got Sams and Zacks and Kellys and Rosies. It’s stupid confusing.”

“Only one was my fault,” her dad countered. “I’m first Zack and you’re the first Rosie.”

“I’m older than Sam Winchester,” Sam pointed out.

“Whatever,” Rosalie teased. “New rule: all future kids have to have completely original names.”

“That mean you and Nick ain’t naming your first born Spike?” Zack joked.

She wrinkled her nose. “Stop with the baby jokes. And no. No Spike or Buffy or Cordelia.”

“Your mom’s gonna be kinda bummed about that,” Wright said with a smirk. “I am overjoyed. Totally over the whole namesake game.”

“Well…” Rosalie said slowly. “We _could _use your middle name, Dad.”

Zack gave his brother a curious look. “What _is _your middle name?”

“Nacho,” Wright said, standing. “Nacho fucking business.” He pointed at his daughter. “I disown you.”

“So you don’t want to go patrol with me? Xander and Anya went to help Nick at the bar.”

“I own you again,” Wright teased. “Let’s hit it, Daddy’s little slayer.”

“No,” Zack called out as they took off. “You missed the part where you told us your middle name.”

“I really didn’t, assface,” Wright replied before he was gone.

“Well,” he declared. “Seems we got some research to do.”

“What about your middle name?” Sam asked. “Can’t be lamer than Norman.”

“Norman?” Zack laughed.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, jackass.” He pulled out his phone. “Now I’m going to find embarrassing shit on _you_.”

Zack barked a laugh. “Good luck. I’ve been dead for a decade. Social media ain’t got shit on me and my middle name isn’t _Norman_ bad.”

It was stupid, but it at least helped pass the time until Spike and Buffy were brought back home.

*~*~*

They finally made it to the cavern where all the tunnels converged at the bottom of the staircase. Spike and Buffy tore off running—and Sam couldn’t blame them. They’d been in Hell the longest and both deserved some fresh air and freedom.

Sam had just begun the climb when a hand grasped his arm. Dean was pulling him to stop. “You okay?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Sam chuckled. “Dude, that’s the question we’re supposed to keep asking _you_. You got this rescue thing all backwards.”

Dean didn’t smile back. If anything, his frown grew deeper—at least from what Sam could tell from the thick bushy beard on his brother’s face. “You look like Grizzly Adams with that thing.”

“Shut it,” Dean snapped. “And I’m serious—how you holding up?”

A light went off in his brain. “She already told you?” Sam turned to flash a dirty look to Faith who stood a couple steps back.

“Don’t look at her like that,” Dean warned. “I’m still kinda mentally unstable and I don’t need you glaring at my gir—” He paused. “At people.”

Sam took the opportunity for deflection. “What was that?” He couldn’t help but smirk at his brother.

Dean swallowed and shifted slightly. “Just answer the damn question.”

“I’m good,” he lied. He had no intention of telling about the bottle of blood in his pocket or how he kept debating whether he’d open it the second he was alone. How he kept craving the taste on his tongue or the power it had filled him with—a sense of control he’d been lacking for what seemed like forever. “Really.”

Dean only looked half convinced. “Well, after we get back, maybe we should tell the vamps to take a hike—at least for a while.”

“What?” Sam balked. “That’s ridiculous! Besides that, Buffy and Spike pretty much _live_ in the bunker now so—”

“I think they’ll understand,” Dean cut in. “And if not, they can fuck off.”

“Dean,” he grumbled, not sure where to start. “Buffy is Dawn’s _sister_. Not to mention she’s been helping me train Rose the past few months.”

“Fay can work that end,” Dean answered. “She did before just fine. And I know Nick’s not been as helpful now that the bar is up and running, so I can start helping you out with all the background research and shit.”

“_You?_” Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “The guy who’s wrote off this whole watcher thing from the very start? Didn’t you dub it the Wankers Council?”

His brother gave a sheepish shrug. “Spike really did, I just kept it alive. But that’s not the point—I get now that I’ve been making you carry all the responsibility and that ain’t fair.”

“No,” Sam said bitterly. “What you’re saying is you think I’m failing. You think _you _need to come in and take charge because I’m not holding up.”

Dean shook his head and sighed deeply. “I _knew _you’d go and take it the worst possible way—which is not at all what I’m saying. Here I am trying to tell you that _I’ve _been the fuck up, and you go and twist it back ‘round.”

“No, no, no,” he said, getting pissy. “You’re trying to do what you always do—the whole song and dance where you gotta do something you don’t even want to do because you have to _look out _for me. And I thought we were finally past all that bullshit!”

“You fucking dumbass—”

“Guys!” Sabrina said, cutting Dean off. Both men stopped and looked at their little sister. “Hate to interrupt, but can we save the pissing contest for _after_ we escape Hell?”

“She’s right,” Castiel agreed. “We are not safe yet.”

“Do you want to lead or cover my back, _dumbass_?” Sam snapped at his brother.

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up and move, you paranoid motherfucker.”

Maybe it was guilt that fueled his sudden bad mood. Dean might just be trying to atone for some of the shit he’d given him over the last months. But maybe he knew Sam wasn’t as fine as he said.

Sam just hoped that getting out of Hell made the craving in his body calm down to manageable because right now it really wasn’t.

*~*~*

It was surreal being in the real world once again. He’d forgotten how good Earth smelled—even if they were in some gritty alley. He’d forgotten how bright the sky was even as the sun was setting for the day. He’d forgotten how nice it was to see more than concrete walls and a phone screen.

He’d forgotten he’d run Baby into a headstone at the cemetery. “_Shit!_” he hissed as he saw the big dent in the front chrome bumper. “You guys just left her like that? Seriously? You’re monsters!”

“You do realize you were gone for like a day,” Sabrina pointed out.

That shut him up—the time difference was a bitch. “Whatever,” he said walking over to stroke the hood. “Sorry I hurt you,” he whispered to her. “I’ll fix you up real good later.”

“How we doing this?” Buffy asked. “We can’t all ride in that.”

Cass gave a solution. “I can take Buffy, Spike, and Dean back to the bunker—“

“Nope,” Dean declared. “Need I remind you about transportation constipation. I already got enough to deal with, thanks.”

“Very well,” Cass said before walking over to grip both vampires and take off.

“You wanna drive?” Sam said, waving the keys at him.

“No,” he admitted. “Just get me home.” Then he did something he doubted he’d done since childhood—he opened the door and slipped into the backseat. Truth was he really wasn’t feeling chatty at the moment. Everything and everything that was bound to come when he and Faith finally had their private reunion was overwhelming him.

He’d honestly expected her to ride shotgun, so he must’ve looked a little bewildered when Faith crawled in beside him. “What?” she asked with a hint of a blush. “You best not be judging me on appearance or smell right now.”

He shook his head and scooted closer to the door. Dean had to smell like BO and old jizz—it’d been a long three months and a boy only had so many forms of entertainment. He was gonna officially burn the clothes he was wearing when he finally stripped them off and showered. Self-conscious for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her, he looked away from her and hoped she’d do the same. He had to look like a homeless junkie about now.

As the car started up and they made the drive back to Lebanon, Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on the positive instead of the dread he felt about what Faith was gonna say and do when they got home. She’d said they needed to hold off on the “blame game” and he was certain that was her code for addressing how he’d broken her heart and her trust. Knowing how precious both of those were when it came to his Kitty, he knew he’d committed a capital offense. Other than cheating on her, he honestly couldn’t think of a worse crime. Knowing he deserved it didn’t make the thought of the official breakup conversation any easier.

Maybe he would leave Lebanon for a time. Faith was needed to help Ro, but he really wasn’t a key part of the Slayer Team. He’d like to imagine a way he and Faith could be friends—because he was always gonna love her—but he didn’t know if he could handle being around her without being _around _her. And watching her move on and find someone else would be more torture than he had just endured—but he’d do it just to know she was happy. She deserved it.

Dean hadn’t realized he’d started crying until he felt Faith lean over and grasp his hand. He looked down and saw their fingers intertwined and he bit his lip to keep from releasing a sob. Squeezing his eyes shut, he quietly gasped to maintain what was left of his composure.

He felt her slide over and press her thigh up against his own before leaning close enough to whisper for only him to hear. “It’s okay, Ducky.”

Dean nodded, but couldn’t speak. Last thing he wanted was to draw attention from Sam and Sabrina attempting some lighthearted chitchat about the American wizarding schools. He tried to calm himself by pretending to believe she was right—that things would be okay. When she rested her head on his shoulder, her touch and her scent filled his mind and he finally felt his nerves begin to calm.

“There we go,” she whispered when he finally opened his eyes several minutes later. “Welcome back, Mr. Winchester.” Faith flashed his one of her prized sweet smiles—the kind that made him all warm and mushy.

“Hey,” he said back with a boyish grin. “Thanks for the rescue, Ms. Lehane.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and nestled closer. “Is that dried cum all over your pants?”

“Pretty sure you know the answer.”

She just snickered and didn’t say another word. And Dean just tried to pretend that this was a beginning of a new chapter and not the end of their story.


	92. Chapter 92

Being around people was already overwhelming. The past two or three days—however long they were wandering around Hell—had been testament enough to that. Buffy had known it would be, especially given as long as she’d been gone. A year, maybe more, with only Crowley for company and no steady pulse of warm human blood pumping through arteries had had an impact. And though she’d known it was coming, being around people was…difficult.

Especially Faith. Buffy didn’t want to tell her sister slayer that she smelled delicious, but damn, she did. Any more time around her and she might have sunk her fangs in, get a lick of that slayer blood Spike was always going on about. Had it not been for the stores she’d saved from Crowley, she could well have done something stake-worthy, and that had Buffy more wigged than pretty much anything she’d been through since diving into Hell.

Her feet hit the floor and the achingly familiar scent of the bunker filled her nostrils, and when Buffy opened her eyes, she found herself in the main meeting room. She’d dreamed of this place so many times over the last few months that looking at it now was surreal.

That was it. It was over. She was home.

Buffy took one look around and abruptly burst into tears.

Castiel favored her with a concerned glance. “What is wrong?”

But Spike understood—of course he did. He threw an arm around her shoulders and reeled her to him to press a kiss to her temple. And that just made her cry harder because she knew how pissed he was with her. How she’d taken his trust in her, in them, and treated it like something expendable. That they would survive this was a given, but she didn’t feel at the moment that she deserved tenderness. She’d been a Grade-A moron, going at it alone when she hadn’t had to. Perhaps if she’d told Spike her plans, if he’d jumped into Hell with her, he would have been able to prevent Crowley from getting hold of her and conducting his experiments. Maybe Castiel could have been waiting for her with Spike so they could zip right back. Maybe a thousand things.

“There now, love,” Spike whispered into her hair. “It’s all right now.”

But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. And she so wasn’t looking forward to the talk—or fight—that was in their future. “I’m so sorry,” she blubbered, shuddering. “Spike, I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

He squeezed her tighter. “Not doin’ this just yet,” he murmured. “Reckon you deserve at least one good night’s sleep before we have it out.”

She nodded miserably. “And a shower? I need a shower.”

“You and me both, Slayer.”

“If you do not require me, I am going to find Mary,” Castiel said, moving around them and toward the hallway. “She needs to know her sons are all right.”

Buffy nodded. “Thanks, Cass.”

Spike gave the angel a stiff nod. “Watch out for Rupert.”

Castiel went rigid as though preparing himself, then disappeared down the hall.

Buffy drew in a deep breath to steady herself, reality starting to set in. At least to the point where she was reasonably certain the world around her wasn’t going to blink out of existence. That she was indeed back home. The scents in the air told her that the bunker was again filled to the brim—Zack Wright, Xander, and Anya were here, as well as the Hogwarts gang. Then the familiar scent of her sister—the sister who’d been pissed with her at last count—and the other members of their little vampire family. They were overwhelming, those smells. There were things the memory couldn’t mimic. And as much as Buffy wanted to see them, all of them, she wasn’t sure she was ready to be around people just yet. Especially people with pulses, like her sister. Not until she was certain she wouldn’t do something she’d regret forever in a fit of hunger.

But, from the thundering of footsteps that suddenly filled the air, it seemed unlikely that the cat that was their return home was going to stay in the bag. The next thing Buffy knew, Zack and Kelly had exploded into the room, both looking a mixture of stricken and dumbfounded. For a moment, they just stared at one another, then Kelly launched herself into Buffy’s arms with such force she nearly toppled over.

“Whoa nelly,” Buffy said, a surprised laugh escaping her throat. “Good to see you too.”

Kelly squeezed her tighter, then drew back and slapped her across the face.

“Gotta say I’m getting some mixed signals here,” Buffy said dryly, patting her cheek.

“You left,” Kelly said, her eyes brimming with tears. “You left and I didn’t know what to do.”

Buffy furrowed her brow and looked to Zack, who shrugged, looking halfway between amused and ticked off, himself. “It’s been a rough few days around here,” he said by way of explanation, then shifted his attention to Spike. “Hey, wanna not do that again?”

Spike’s mouth twitched. “’Lo to you too, Zangy. Been a minute.”

“I’m serious. Our sires go AWOL and everything here goes to shit.” Zack shook his head, then stepped forward and took Spike into a bro-hug that had Buffy ready to start bawling again. “Man, I get why you did it, but I could kick your fucking ass for what you put us through.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Kelly repeated, crying openly now. “It was like having part of me cut off and I didn’t know what to do. I _lost _it, Buffy. I attacked Faith. And Dawn got hurt and Rosie…”

Oh damn. Buffy’s gut twisted. She glanced at Spike, who just shrugged as if to say, “Your mess, pet.” Even after all these years, there were certain nuances about life as a vampire that she just didn’t get. Things like the sire bond and how her decision to take that dive had affected more than just her relationship with Spike, but everyone she loved on levels beyond the emotional.

“Dawn’s fine, just so you know,” Zack said. “Everyone is fine. She was going after Faith and Dawn just kinda happened to be in the way. Plus, Dean shot her in the back, so I think we’re all square.”

Buffy frowned. “Why were you going after Faith?”

“Because it was supposed to be her!” Kelly snapped. “It was supposed to be her, Buffy, not you. She has no one—or she didn’t, and even if she and Dean were canoodling, that’s still not _us_. It’s not family. And maybe all the stuff that happened with the devil wouldn’t have happened if Faith hadn’t been here.”

“That’s not fair,” Buffy replied softly. “Kelly, you know that’s not fair.”

“No, I know that you were supposed to be here for us and you weren’t. That’s what I know.” She shook her head, the tears coming harder now. “And I didn’t know what to do because you were gone and you’re a part of me and it was terrible. I lost myself.”

“Oi, wanna watch it, pidge?” Spike asked, stepping in front of Buffy. “Slayer made a call and we all had to bloody live with it.”

That he could say that, mean it, while being as pissed with her as she knew he was made Buffy feel about two inches tall. She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering.

“You didn’t,” Zack said dryly. “You didn’t even stick around long enough to tell us what you were doing. We got back and everyone was gone.”

“A day here’s sodding _months _down there, Zangy,” Spike snapped. “And even if it hadn’t been, of bleeding course I didn’t wait around. You tellin’ me you would’ve waited if it’d been Kel? Or the kids? Still took me the better part of a year to get to her, so not gonna sodding apologize for not sticking around to get a proper send off. And you.” He turned to Kelly. “In what bloody world does the Slayer not make with the heroics, eh? The reason the lot of us had our heads all turned around was because we knew exactly what she’d do if it came down to it. So you can stop actin’ like it came from bloody nowhere. That demon berk had her convinced she’d be all right—down and back in a flash. She didn’t go thinkin’ she’d be leavin’ any of us in a lurch.”

Zack said nothing for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’re _not _angry about how this happened? Because, Spike, man, I know you.”

“Of course I’m angry!” Spike roared in response, the heat and pain in his voice cutting her to the core. “Told the dizzy bird if she was gonna jump, I was bloody well gonna jump too. Bitch had the angel use his mojo on me to keep me from doin’ just that. Got the load of other wankers around here in on her secret plan and trusted the bloody _King of Hell _to keep his word. And where did that get her?” He whipped his head to her, glare in place. “Tortured for more than a year. Cut open. Nearly bloody ripped apart.” His voice cracked on the last word, and tears shone in his eyes when he turned back to Zack. “So yeah, Zangy, I’m furious. But I knew she’d do something like this, if it came down to it. Big bloody hero. And I’d wager what Crowley put her through is enough, yeah? She doesn’t need it from the two of you.”

Dammit, she was crying again. Buffy sniffed and wiped at her eyes. That was Spike through and through—as angry as he’d ever been with her, still bottling his demon’s need to vent its pain and fear and fury, but standing between her and others when he knew she was in the wrong. Protecting her at all costs. It wasn’t often she felt she didn’t deserve him anymore, but this was one of those moments. His kind of love redefined the word and had since the beginning.

Zack and Kelly, for their part, looked shell-shocked.

“Tortured?” Kelly echoed hoarsely. “You were…”

“Crowley wanted my soul,” Buffy said, scratching absently at her throat. “He planned on taking it out then sending me home. But, as it turns out, the PTB really have that slayer-shall-not-lose-her-soul-in-the-event-of-vampage thing locked in, and he couldn’t get it to budge. He tried magic and… Well, cutting me open like he could find it by digging around.”

If it were possible for a vampire to turn green, Zack did just that. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah. Not of the fun.” That was perhaps the mildest way she could say that. “And when he concluded the soul wasn’t going anywhere, he decided to just keep me.” She swallowed. “He also fed me human blood, so…being around people might not be the best idea. I’ve been on demon juice for the past few weeks—got strong enough to bust out and then just waited for Spike to show up, since I knew he was coming and we didn’t both need to be wandering around Hell—but being around the others…”

“Others?” Kelly echoed, looking from Spike to Buffy and back again. “What others?”

“Ran into the rescue party—Sam and Faith and Sabrina.” And Willow, though Buffy couldn’t let herself go there just yet. That decision had been out of her hands and she wasn’t sure what she would have done had she had more time to unpack it. She liked to think that she would have worked hard to find a way to keep from leaving anyone behind, but there were scars on her body that were there because Willow had opened the Hellmouth, scars left behind by cursed tools Crowley had used to pry her open. They had been healing, slow and steady, but she knew she might never look the same again—the scar above Spike’s eyebrow had been made with a magic blade, after all.

She didn’t have much time to ruminate on these things before the thunder of footsteps echoed through the air and Dawn came barreling into the room. She skidded to a halt when their eyes connected, and Buffy released a breath as though she had been punched in the stomach.

Dawn stared at her for a long moment, her eyes filling with tears, her lower lip trembling. Then she looked at Spike and began to cry. A beat later, she had flown across the room and tackled Buffy into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. “Buffy, I’m so sorry. I love you and I was wrong and please never, ever, ever do that again. Never again.”

Buffy inhaled, hating herself when she felt her fangs tingle. “I love you too,” she said. “We both do.”

Spike must have sensed her struggle, for he was there the next instant, steering Dawn into his arms. “Take it you got my message, then?” he asked.

Dawn nodded hard, her facing crumbling. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

Buffy blinked away her own tears and looked to Spike. “What message?”

“Mighta phoned the Bit after she said her piece to give her what for.” Spike met her gaze and arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

She wasn’t—she was overwhelmed. All the sensations about being back were crashing down on her and she needed a moment to adjust. Though it looked like she wasn’t going to get one; no sooner had the thought crossed her mind that Giles tumbled into the room, his eyes wild. When they settled on her, though, that look of pure fatherly love took him over and then he was hugging her too.

“Buffy,” he sobbed into her hair.

She inhaled and squeezed. “Hey, Giles.”

“I was so worried.” He pulled together long enough to favor her with a fond, paternal smile. “I would say don’t do that to me, but…”

“But that ground is more than covered,” Buffy said, waving at Zack and Kelly. Then she pressed her lips together. “Guys… I need to shower. Spike and I both do, and…” She met Giles’s gaze. “He was feeding me human blood. Crowley.”

“You were with _Crowley_?” Dawn demanded. “Sam and Dean spent days trying to get that fucker on the phone.”

“I know,” Buffy replied. “It’s… I really don’t want to explain this again just yet because I’m sure it’ll be a thing. But again, with the diet of human blood.” She nodded at them. “I might need a couple of days to wean back onto animal blood before you guys stop smelling like food. Granted, I’ve been on demon blood since I overpowered the asshole, but it’s still pretty potent.”

Giles nodded his understanding, his face blanking. “Of course. Whatever you need.” He glanced at Dawn. “Castiel mentioned that Dean was recovered as well?”

“You saw Sam?” Dawn demanded. “Is he okay? Is he—”

“He’s fine. Dean looks a little mountain man right now, but I think he’ll be fine too.” Buffy waited until Giles turned back to her. “But Willow…”

“What about Willow?”

Buffy turned to the owner of the voice, recognizing the Governor of California, who looked particularly haggard.

“What about Willow?” Sam Seaborn asked again. “Where is she?”

Spike placed a hand on the small of Buffy’s back and gave her a little push toward the hall. “Go wash up, Slayer,” he murmured. “I’ll handle this.”

“Handle what? Where is Willow?” Sam stumbled toward Buffy, which was a very bad idea at the moment. She didn’t know him well enough to have strong emotions for him beyond him being the father of Willow’s child, and her demon was scratching at the surface for an outlet. Sam seized her by the shoulders and shook. “Where is Willow?” This he screamed. “Tell me where she is! What did you do with her?”

Spike roared and shoved her behind him, his fangs descending. “Slayer’s a hot bloody minute from going feral on your arse, you git,” he snapped. “Unless you’re aimin’ to leave that kid of yours without both parents, I’d watch my step.”

Sam shook his head, his eyes wide and manic, shining with tears. “No,” he said. “No, no, no, no.”

“Lucifer fixed it up so Dean could only leave his prison if Faith stayed behind,” Buffy said softly. “Willow had already decided to take her place. She had that juice stuff—”

“Polyjuice Potion,” Giles echoed, horrified. “She…she remained behind?”

“You _let _her stay behind?” Sam howled, launching forward again. “You let her sacrifice herself?”

Neither Dawn, Zack, nor Kelly looked particularly bothered by this.

“She did try to end the world,” Zack muttered. “Twice now.”

“The second time was an accident!” Sam screamed. “She thought she was making up for it—doing good. She thought this was her chance for redemption.”

“It was,” Buffy said. “She sacrificed herself to trap the devil. That was her decision, Sam.”

“There was no way you guys were letting Faith do it,” Dawn agreed, nodding. “Dean would have flipped his lid, for one, and then Sam would have flipped his lid, and then I’d have to show them all what being the Key really means.” She turned to Sam, her expression not without sympathy but otherwise impassive. “Willow’s the reason all of this happened. It’s right that she should be there.”

Sam glared at her, tears carving tracks down his face. “Where is my son?” he demanded in a cool, lethal voice. “Where the _fuck _did you leave my son?”

“He’s on Sam’s bed. I—”

Sam tore off without awaiting another word. Which was good, because if he’d kept looking at Dawn like that, Buffy wasn’t sure she would have been able to stop herself from making him lunch. Instead, she turned back to Spike, who nodded at the hallway.

“Let’s go wash up, Slayer. Then we’ll fix a spot of dinner, yeah?”

“I’ll make something,” Kelly volunteered. “Anything you want.”

“I wouldn’t say no to your spaghetti,” she replied weakly. “With the special marinara.”

“Coming right up.”

*~*~*

Dawn kept Faith informed of the goings-on at the bunker in a steady stream of text messages arriving at the phone that she’d have to return to Buffy. At her groan, Dean finally turned to look at her, and something strange flashed across his face when he saw her fiddling with the phone.

Was he thinking about the videos? She knew he’d watched them—he and Lucifer had confirmed it now—but he hadn’t said anything to her about their contents since they’d pulled him from the box. And though it had been a rush, she was pretty damn sure the last two videos had included the words _I love you_. Granted, that had been before everything had literally gone to hell, so there was no telling what was going on in his head. His behavior wasn’t helping the matter any. The breakdown at the box had been followed by an awkward strain that had never been present between them. He’d seemed determined to not look at her, though also seemed to crave her touch. She didn’t know what to make of that. Well, she knew what she _wanted _to make of it, what she hoped was true, what _seemed _true in the few words they had shared since they’d been reunited, but maybe she couldn’t bank on that after all.

“Trouble?” he asked, nodding at the phone.

“Sam—the governor, Sam—apparently ain’t taking the news that Red stayed behind all that well.” Not that this was surprising, but she had zero fucks left to give at the moment for dealing with other people’s issues. All she wanted was to shower and curl up with Dean and pretend the past two days hadn’t happened. She swore under her breath and opened a new message to Mary. The bunker needed to be clear of people before Dean returned. The last thing he needed was to be crowded by others, especially after so much time to himself. If anyone could get asses out of the bunker fast, it was Mary Winchester.

Indeed, it took perhaps twenty seconds for the phone to ping with Mary’s answering text. The woman agreed wholeheartedly and sent her thanks.

“Fuck.” Dean rested his head against the back of his seat, sounding not just exhausted, but defeated. It made her chest ache.

“It’s all right, Ducky. Kitty’s handling it.”

He whipped his face to hers, brow furrowed. “Handling what?”

“Don’t worry.”

“Fay, I swear, if you even fucking think about goin’ down there to take her place—”

“What?” She turned to him with a frown. “Wouldn’t have left at all if that was my plan. Can’t say that I’m thrilled with how it went down but I’m not the self-sacrificin’ type.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Not how we met or anythin’. Didn’t have to keep you from throwing your ass in the Hellmouth, either. You’re a selfish bitch.”

Faith worked her throat. “That was different. I don’t love Willow.”

There. She’d said the l-word. Yes, in a wimpy kind of way, but she’d still said it. It was his turn to bring up the subject.

But he didn’t. Instead, he settled back again, seemingly mollified that she wasn’t about to pull an about-face.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure my bein’ there would be bad for other reasons,” she continued. “Lucifer planned on knocking me up.”

“Yeah. He told me.”

“And Castiel said angel/human babies are a special kind of pain in the ass. Think Will at least stands a chance of not having the decision taken from her. She might even kill the asshole.”

No response. No grunt. No anything. It reminded her of that night they’d driven back after Lucifer had conducted his blood test, when Dean had been so up in his head that he hadn’t said a damn word. But that night had at least had a happy ending. The longer the quiet went, the more she worried this one wouldn’t.

By the time they’d arrived home, she wasn’t sure she could stand it. Because she knew it was about to come to a head. Everything—all of it. Once they were away from others, there’d be no sense in putting off the talk. At the very least she needed to know where she was sleeping tonight.

Sabrina turned in her seat after Sam killed the engine. “I’m going to head out if that’s all right,” she said, looking between her brother and Faith. “Wes has been texting me nonstop for the past two hours and I need to make sure he hasn’t burned the tent down or something.”

At the mention of Wes, Faith felt her throat go tight, not sure how Dean would react to that.

“He went back to the tent?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed. “I thought—”

“You two should do what everyone else does and grab a room while you’re here,” Dean said, opening the car door. “Even if it is a magic tent, can’t be all that comfy.”

Sabrina glanced at Faith then back again. “We weren’t sure that was a good idea. Optimistic that we’d get you out.”

Dean paused, closed his eyes, and favored Faith with a look she couldn’t read—not well, at least, with it being dark and the beard covering half his face. “Done being an idiot where he’s concerned,” he said, then shut the door and started for the bunker.

Faith clamored out after him without saying a word to Sam or Sabrina. Honestly, she couldn’t give a fuck where her would-be ex and the littlest Winchester camped it for a night, so long as she got to go to sleep in _their_ bed. So long as there was a way for them to still be them.

Otherwise, she honestly wasn’t sure what she’d do. Maybe take off. Well, almost definitely take off. She couldn’t imagine being here in any other circumstance.

When she stumbled inside, it was to find Dean wrapped in a bear hug with Mary, who wasn’t crying but was squeezing the life out of her son and murmuring things to him that she couldn’t hear. Faith wasn’t sure how long she stood and stared, but after a moment, Sam pushed his way inside and closed the door behind him. Apparently, Sabrina had already taken off.

Mary caught sight of Sam and smiled. “Both my boys are home then.”

Dean disentangled himself from his mother’s arms and followed her gaze. Then he looked to Faith and that indiscernible look was back. “You told her to clear the place out?” he asked.

She nodded.

For a moment, there was nothing. He just held her eyes, but when he blinked and looked down, the soft lamplight in the room betrayed the gleam of tears there. “Thank you.” He looked back to his mother. “I’m gonna shower and see if I can start feeling human again.”

“I’ve ordered food,” Mary said. “As soon as I got Faith’s message. Rupert and I will go pick it up. The vampires had spaghetti, but I don’t think Kelly made enough for all of us. Also not sure it was appropriate for human consumption.”

“Special sauce,” Faith murmured. Then remembered, with a pang, the night Kelly had first made that meal. How she and Dean had annoyed Sam by exchanging a series of inside jokes. How later they had curled on the sofa and fallen asleep to Monty Python. How the next day, Dean had asked her to be his girlfriend while under the command of Veritaserum and how happy she’d been.

“Thanks, Mom,” Dean said, then turned and started down the hallway without another word.

Again, Faith didn’t bother to check in with the others—she took off after him. Not sure what she’d say or trusting that she’d have the wherewithal to form words in the first place. She caught him just as he was about to escape into their room.

“Wanna hand in the shower?” she blurted inelegantly. “’Cause I sure as fuck need one too. Not as badly as you do, but…”

He turned and looked at her, breathing hard. There were still tears in his eyes and they seemed to intensify at this, and fuck, she didn’t know how to read that. But maybe she was pushing too hard and just needed to give him some space, though he’d seemed willing to talk earlier when they’d been in Hell and she’d been the one to put it off. She hadn’t been comfortable having any such conversation in front of others, even if everyone knew how she felt about him. It seemed something for private.

“Thanks,” Dean said a moment later. “But I got it.”

Faith pressed her lips together and nodded. “Right. I… Uhh, well, my stuff’s still in there.” She waved lamely at their room. “I just need to grab a change of clothes and I’ll find another shower.”

He nodded and opened the door, and they stepped into the room together, possibly for the last time. The bed was still unmade from where Sam had roused her the day before, or whenever that had been, and seeing that hurt for some reason she couldn’t quite understand. Faith made her way to the dresser, the one she and Dean had filled together, grabbed a pair of underwear, yoga pants, and a tank top, then all but bolted for the door.

It didn’t take long to find another shower—this place had rooms out the wazoo. And even though most of the layout was fairly cut-and-paste, the change in scenery managed to hit her hard.

Not as hard, though, as when she started to disrobe and caught sight of the black ink below her naval. The duck tattoo was situated on the left side of her pelvis, the bird with its wings spread. It was entirely in black—a silhouette—and not too large but not tiny, either. Enough so that, had that night gone as it should have, Dean definitely would have seen it and understood what it meant.

Faith made quick work of the shower—quicker than she would have ordinarily, but her heart was jack-rabbiting and her thoughts spinning a mile a minute. She managed to shave her legs without cutting herself open, which she considered a win, and scrubbed the grime of Hell out of her hair, but her mind was elsewhere.

Even if she and Dean were over, there were things he needed to hear. Things she needed to say. And though she knew a talk was imminent, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get everything out if the conversation went south, at least not in the way she needed to.

There was a chance, a good one, that he’d left his phone in the room. This thought had Faith scrambling to the finish. She rinsed her hair and scrubbed wayward bubbles of soap off her skin, dried in record time, then busted a move back to their room.

Sure enough, on the foot of the bed was Dean’s phone. Heart in her throat, she snatched it up, sat on the bed and started to record. She didn’t let herself think too much, just blurted out everything. By the end, she was crying and she didn’t care—just let it happen. After she finished, she edged out of the room and toward the bathroom. If he wasn’t in the shower anymore, she’d just shove his phone at him and tell him she made him a new one. But he was still in the shower—and hell, she couldn’t blame the guy after three months of stewing in his own filth. She’d probably shower until the water ran cold.

Faith crept toward the mirror, her blood pounding. She considered her options before opting for full chicken-shit and writing _Watch Me _in the steam. Then she drew an arrow to the phone, which she placed on the edge of the sink.

There. It was done. In a half-hour, god-willing, she’d know where they stood.

And if it wasn’t where she wanted it to be, she could start figuring out the next part of her life. The post-Dean part. It’d be the hardest wound she’d ever had to heal, but she’d find a way somehow. She was a survivor if nothing else.

But fuck, she didn’t just want to survive anymore. The thought alone was empty and lonely.

Faith patted the duck tattoo over her clothes, then slipped back into the hallway to wait.


	93. Chapter 93

Sam tried real hard to look like he gave a fuck what his mom was telling him, but the truth of the matter was all he could concentrate on was the bottle of blood in his pocket and how bad he wanted to take it out and examine the contents. Part of him was terrified that he’d grabbed one Buffy had already emptied—that all his work and anticipation would be for shit. He needed to know.

“Sam—I think I’ll just call _you_ Sammy until he’s gone—Sam went understandably ballistic when he learned that Willow wasn’t coming back,” Mary reported. “But Hermione and the others sedated him and put him to bed. I don’t think that’ll do much in the long run, but it’ll give everyone a few hours to process.”

“Yeah,” he said forcing himself to nod.

“Dawn drove over to the bar with Zack after she and Buffy finished their reunion. She wanted to give the good news to the others in person.” Mary favored him with a smile. “I believe she mentioned something about how ‘her man had brought her sister home’ and a suggestive list of rewards. Not that I was supposed to overhear, but…” She gave him a cheeky shrug.

“Well,” he said as he flushed. “On that awkward note, I’m gonna go clean up and grab a bite.” He just wasn’t sure what he wanted to consume first.

“I’ll text you when the food gets here,” she told him before letting him escape.

After getting to his room, he locked the door and released a deep breath as he slumped his back against the wood. His hands trembled as he reached in his pocket and pulled out the bottle.

He gasped as he looked upon the thick liquid filled to the top. Sam shuddered and didn’t know if he should take a sip now or wait until he could unleash his powers. Just as decided to throw caution to the wind and take a drink, a shriek startled him so bad he almost dropped the glass container. “_Shit!_” he hissed as he secured his grip. Then another cry alerted him that whatever he’d heard was actually in his room.

There was an odd arrangement of pillows on his normally made bed, and Sam approached warily. When he finally caught sight of the wiggling mass on the mattress, he jumped back with a quiet scream. “_Oh my God_,” he whispered in terror as he looked at the baby staring back at him. “How did you get here? _Why_ are you in here?”

Oz, for his predictable part, wasn’t giving any answers. Instead he just waved his tiny fists in the air and released a loud squeak.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Sam grumbled and then looked around the room in the hope there was someone else in here who could save him.

He didn’t want to touch him—Sam knew jack shit about babies—but he also didn’t want to keep him. Realizing the bottle of blood was still clenched in his hand, he turned to bury it in depths of his nightstand clutter.

Oz didn’t like the loss of attention and began to whimper when Sam moved out of view. “Hey,” Sam berated as though he could reason a damn baby. “Hold on just a minute. I know you can’t understand me, but you should be able to tell my tone conveys authority and discipline. Stop it.”

The baby did the opposite and began crying in earnest. Sam finished stowing the bottle and turned his attention back to Oz just as bubbles began floating from his angry, open mouth. “No, no, no,” he said as he noted the bubbles weren’t dissipating, but gathering into a weird mid-air bubble bath mass. “You’re a _wizard_ baby!” He slapped his forehead as he remembered the terrifying fact. “Don’t start flying!”

As he bent down and scooped up the noisy bubble machine, he was torn with cradling it like he’d watched others do or tucking it under his arm like a football. Instead, he held it at arms length because he caught wind of an atrocious odor that told him this baby had shit in his bed. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he ran and clamored to get out of the room and find someone—_anyone_—who could save him. Right now he was more scared than he’d been his entire trip to Hell.

“Help!” Sam called out as he stampeded down the hall. “Seriously, _help me!_ Guys?”

He burst into the kitchen and nearly broke into tears like the baby when he saw Kelly standing by the sink with a butcher knife in one hand and a towel in the other.

“Sam?” she asked blankly.

“_Take it!_” he roared above the baby’s bubbly wails. “Fix it! Stop it! Kill it! Just make him quit!”

Kelly dropped the knife and towel in the sink and sprang over with a speed only a vampire could manage before gently grasping the baby and pulling him to her breast. “Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed in that sappy tone Sam just didn’t know how to pull off.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam clutched his chest to try and calm his pounding heart. “I know. And I don’t even have a clue why it was in _my _room.”

Kelly’s eyes flickered up and flashed a look of annoyance. “I wasn’t talking to you, you big dumbass.” Then she looked at Oz and grinned. “It’s okay, sweetie pie. We won’t leave you with that silly dumbass anymore.”

Sam was irritated until he realized this meant he was off the hook. He started backing toward the door. “Cool. Glad you got it covered, Kel.”

“Don’t think about it, Winchester,” she warned in a deceptively cheery voice. “If you don’t go find me that diaper bag when you leave this room I will eat you in your sleep.”

He weighed his options before conceding babies were not worse than death. It was close though.

*~*~*

Dean washed every inch of his body at least three times before he felt close to human again. Twice might have done the trick, but he was stalling in a major way. He was split between utter dread and overwhelming excitement to be alone with Faith. While he knew the odds were never in his favor, something about the way she’d touched and looked at him made him feel like they had a shot at the elusive happy ending he’d always dreamed about.

It could just as easily have all been pity. Despite the persona she liked to publicize, Faith wasn’t a heartless bitch. Picking him up when he’d broken down in the box and again in the car could just be her being a decent person. The offer for a shower might have again been pity on a pathetic boy.

When his fingers began to prune, he figured it was time to quit hiding. After shutting off the water, he snatched the towel hanging beside the shower and began drying off. Then he went to stand before the mirror and take care of the bush growing from his face.

Faintly in the steam of the mirror was a message and an arrow pointing to his phone. Trembling, he picked up the device and opened it up and saw a video waiting for him.

_“Hey.”_ Faith bit her lower lip and looked down, shaking visibly, then back up again. _“It’s…umm, well, I guess you know the drill. Look, there’s a lot of shit we need to talk about but I just gotta get some of this out there in case we end up screaming at each other like last time. Not sure what all Lucy shared with you while you were down there—figure he was givin’ us both the runaround. He told me he wanted me to be his baby momma and he’d let you out if I agreed. I told him he needed to do two things for me to even think about it. You know one, since he brought me that duck.” _She sniffed and glanced at something off-screen. _“Had to know you were alive. Sammy and me were already planning on saddling up but, fuck, Dean, I had to know if you were alive. And when he gave me that duck I almost fuckin’ lost it. But the other thing I told him I needed was to see what he showed you to put it in your head that Wes and I had hooked up. He did.”_ She wrinkled her nose. _“Ducky, I ain’t gonna lie, not sure what I expected. You kept tellin’ me he had all these tricks up his sleeve, but I didn’t think anything could look that fucking realistic. Shit, was I wrong. I was sittin’ right there and I knew what I was seein’ was a lie but it looked hella real. Everything—the car, the smell…I even touched the fake Faith’s back and it felt like a real person.”_

Another breath. She shook her head and directed her gaze down again. _“Won’t say it didn’t hurt, but…ever since I found out what happened, I’ve been goin’ over a bunch of shit. How easy it was for Wilkins to get in my head, for one thing. Twist the things that I saw into something else to get me to be what he needed me to be to make his plan go off without a hitch. And how I know that you’re like me—you always think the worst of yourself, and what I woulda done had Lucy played that trick on me rather than you. If it was you and Lisa, if I’d’ve believed it, even though you loved me. And fuck, I think I would have. At least enough to do something stupid like blow outta town without talkin’ to you…or go for some pretty fuckin’ epic revenge. Guess my point is that I get it. And hey, wasn’t like I was blameless, right? I’ve been talking to your fucking phone and not you. Even now. I’ve never been good at this vulnerable shit and I gotta tell you, ain’t a ton of fun. Feel like you could cut me right now and I’d just bleed out.”_

Faith took a moment, seeming to gather herself. _“I wanted to stop, though. That last day before things went south, when I took the car and told you I’d pick you up at the bar, I had a plan. I wanted to tell you I loved you and I wanted it to be fuckin’ awesome because it was fucking awesome—a huge fucking deal for me. But maybe that was dumb too. Maybe I shoulda just said this.”_ She squared her shoulders and stared intently into the camera. _“Dean, I love you. And I know more time’s passed for you than me, so you might not be there anymore, but you needed to know that much. I ain’t gonna stop because Lucifer was a shit. He won’t take that away from me—I fought too fucking long to get here. If you just wanna wash your hands of all this, me included, I get it. Will hurt like a motherfucker, but I get it. I’ll pack up and move on. But if you still…” _She swallowed, tears spilling down her cheeks. _“If you’re still where you were before all this went to shit, if you want to hear me say it to your face…I’ll be in the training room, though do me a solid and don’t show if you’re just gonna tell me we’re done. I can read between the lines well enough. Don’t think I could take hearing you don’t love me anymore.”_

He stood there in complete and total shock for about five seconds before his brain and body kicked into hyperdrive. He hadn’t even finished drying before he was tugging on his flannel pajama bottoms, cursing as the fabric clung to his wet skin. He grabbed his T-shirt and phone and bolted, leaving a mess of filthy clothes and the clean pair of underwear he hadn’t bothered with.

After slipping the phone in his pocket, he worked to pull on his shirt while running full speed to the training room. By the time he came to the last corner, he pulled it over his head and misjudged the angle before crashing into the wall. “_Son of a bitch!_” he snapped as he crashed awkwardly to the floor.

He paused a breath as he looked up and realized she was totally in earshot of that. Grunting, he hopped up and dashed the last few steps until he was in the doorway. He took advantage of the fact she was pacing and had just turned her back to try a smooth move. Leaning up against the doorframe, he folded his arms like he had just sauntered up. “Hey,” he called to her. His attempt as a sexy drawl was more a gasping exhale of breath.

She whirled around with wide eyes that look as red and glassy as he was sure his own did. “Hey,” she replied back with an awed breathlessness that somehow got his motor running. Then her eyes narrowed and he finally saw the fiery sparkle he loved ignite inside her. “Did you run all the way here?”

“Why would you say that?” He was still panting when he spoke.

“Maybe because you did.” She took a step toward him and a smile cracked across her beautiful face.

“Well, there’s that,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “Are there bonus points for hitting a wall and not bothering with underwear?”

She bit her lip and gave him a nod. “There are.”

“Cool.” And then she was right before him and it took every ounce of willpower not to grab her and take her right then there—because he knew the moment he let himself get lost in her he was gonna be well and truly gone.

She seemed to read his mind. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “Follow me and you shouldn’t hit anything.”

And then they were walking toward _their_ room and for the moment all the dread and worry and fear and darkness within his was gone—Faith and her light had banished it all away.

“You didn’t shave?” she teased him when they were about to hit the bedroom.

“You want me to go take care of that first?” And he really didn’t know the answer. He hated to admit it, but he _did _look like fucking Grizzly Adams.

“Tomorrow,” she told him. “Maybe. Depends on how well it works for me tonight.”

He honestly didn’t know which of them slammed the door shut, but once closed any composure they were keeping melted away. Picking her up, he slammed her back against the door as she wrapped her arms and legs around him and their mouths crashed together in the kiss they’d both been longing for.

Dean poured every drop of himself into her as he felt her cling to him and do the same. Her tears mixed with his own as their lips and tongues sang their love songs to one another without a single word. Time lost all meaning and they only broke when it came time for them to finally breathe. “Dean,” she moaned as he felt her dip her head and begin peppering his neck in hot, needy little kisses.

He buried his face in her damp hair and took in the warm sweet scent of her filling his nostrils. “Fay, baby, I’m so sorry.”

She pushed on his chest and dropped her legs to the floor. “I know,” she whispered thickly. “I know, Ducky.”

“I never—” But she cut him off with another deep kiss.

“We can talk it all out. Later.” And then she had his hand once more and was pulling him toward the bed.

Maybe the mature adult response would have been sex _after_ the important relationship conversation, but Dean had just spent three months with a phone and his right hand for company. He needed Faith—the real Faith—now.

He definitely didn’t feel he’d earned a blowjob, but he didn’t stop her when she tugged his pants down before lightly shoving him down on the edge of the bed. He certainly didn’t protest when she gracefully dipped to her knees between his thighs and took his cock first into her hand and then her mouth.

Dean fought hard to keep from closing his eyes as she worked her tongue around his dick. It amazed him how well she knew exactly how to give him precisely the right amount of pleasure to get him moaning her name. Running his fingers through her hair, he held her head as she worked up and down his length, her beautiful eyes never leaving his.

All too fast he felt his balls begin to tighten and knew he didn’t want his first time back to be wasted in her mouth—he wanted to come inside her as he told her how much he loved her and felt her coming on his cock.

Placing his palm on her forehead, he pushed her back, gasping. “Easy there, girlfriend. Three months of Hell has my endurance fucked. You gotta give a boy a fighting chance.”

The wicked gleam in her eyes said he wasn’t gonna be given much mercy. She stood up and whipped her tank over her head before tossing it aside. “You sayin’ you forgot how to pleasure a woman? Too much stroking the bishop and you don’t know where to stick it? Am I gonna have to take care of you and me both, Ducky?”

“You naughty little bitch,” he teased as he stood up and tossed her onto the bed.

“Who’s a naughty little bitch?” Faith asked as he pounced on the bed and crawled up between her thighs to begin teasing her nipples with licks and nips.

“You are,” he responded as he sucked one stiff nipple between his lips, relishing in the way she bucked her hips and groaned in response.

“Takes one to know one,” she replied as her fingers began massaging his scalp.

“Nice,” he chuckled, releasing her breast and beginning to pepper her warm flesh with little kisses as he began slowly scooting downward. Considering he’d literally had months to imagine this reunion, he had every intention of taking the time to make it last. He was extra grateful they hadn’t switched the light off before heading to the showers because it gave him the chance to watch her facial expressions as he teased her with his lips and fingers.

“Fuck, you tickle.” Faith giggled and reached down to rub his bearded cheek.

He waggled his brows and kissed just below her belly button. “Just imagine how it’ll feel once I start suckin’ that hot little clit of yours.”

She arched her hips off the mattress. “You’re a naughty lumberjack.”

“If that’s what you want me to be tonight, I’ll whack your bush.”

Faith snickered. “You’re such a dork.”

He sat up on his knees and hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them down. “Whatever. You know you—”

His words and his thoughts and _everything _came to a stop when he caught sight of the patch of black ink right there by her pelvis. That little duck told him just as much as all those love note videos—possibly more because he _knew_ what it said that she’d placed a permanent reminder of him on her body. Not just her body, but in a spot meant for his eyes only—unless they ever got a chance to go somewhere skimpy bikinis were an option.

“Surprise!” she said hesitantly after he was quiet longer than he should have been—his mind still trying to find the proper way to convey how much he loved it. How much he loved _her._

“Faith,” he croaked, his throat struggling to work. “I…” He blinked hard, but felt a couple of tears escape and run down his cheeks. Looking up, he locked his eyes on hers. “_I love you_,” he said hoarsely emphasizing every word. “I just…I fucking _love _you.”

“Dean,” she said as he saw her begin to tremble. She never wavered from staring him dead in the eye. “I love you too.”

If they had been in some blockbuster romance, this would be where the music crescendoed just before the credits kicked on. It would be that moment where their happily ever after started. But there was no music and no guarantee that tomorrow wouldn’t be the end of the world. So instead of letting the credits roll, he gave her a boyish grin and dove his face straight into her pussy.

“_Fuck!_” Faith cried as his tongue slipped between her folds and brushed her clit. “Kinda thought you’d tongue the other hole first.”

He pulled his head back and planted a soft kiss on the little ducky tattoo. “You want me to come kiss you now?”

She bucked her hips. “Pretty sure you know what I want now.”

“I know I’m thirsty, Kitty,” he said with a wink. “And it’s been a long time since I had me a Squirt.”

She tried really hard to act like she wasn’t on the verge of begging as she looked down at him with hooded eyes. “Let’s find out what that beard can do then.”

*~*~*

The worst part was waiting for the Polyjuice to wear off enough that she could escape. Her window of opportunity was closing by the second and Willow feared it would slam shut before she had a chance to seal Lucifer in from the outside.

She had been hitting him with violent bursts of magic each time he moaned or shifted, but she’d poured so much energy in knocking him out that she was afraid she wouldn’t have the mojo to lock the box if it took much longer.

It felt like forever, but eventually, she felt the potion wear off and her appearance turn to normal. She expanded in size and Faith’s clothes become much tighter and more revealing. She aimed one last charged burst at the devil for spite and good measure before conjuring the door and slipping free from the box.

Upon closing the trap, she immediately began using every ounce of her magic—good, bad and ugly—to attach every lock and curse and spell she could fathom to seal the box and prevent it from reopening. She placed enchantments that would even curse her own self if she was ever used to try and release Lucifer from his permanent prison. Lastly, she performed a dark form of blood magic that would place the key within herself—a final lock to keep him from the world until the end of time.

When she felt good and satisfied she let her body relax and tumbled to the ground. She laid there a moment before scooting onto her butt to gaze at the invisible door she had escaped through. “Take that, bitch,” she spat weakly as she fought the urge to pass out.

Willow knee she didn’t have the strength to Apparate. She didn’t even have the magic in her to change her damn clothes. Grunting like an old lady, she slowly worked herself up on her feet. She couldn’t really remember how long it had taken to get from the entrance to where she now stood, but she knew as long as she was still breathing she would keep moving until she had her Oz in her arms.

And there was no way she was gonna leave him ever again.


	94. Chapter 94

Though Dawn was in the mood to party in celebration of her sister’s return—with or without her sister present—she was much more in the room for something else, especially when Mary texted to let her know Sam and the others had arrived safely back at the bunker. It was officially time to reward the man. She’d let him shower first, sure, and maybe get something to eat, but mama was hungry for some Winchester and she aimed to satisfy the craving.

With a little squeal, Dawn slid off the barstool. “Later, losers. Got a date. Vamps are on their own for getting home.”

“Oi!” Nick yelled, throwing a dishrag onto his shoulder. “What the bleeding hell do I pay you for?”

Dawn arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t even working tonight, doofus.”

“Do you work ever?”

“Bite me, British.”

Nick swore and rolled his eyes. “I ought to bloody sack you, you know. You’re a fairly rotten bartender, you hardly ever show up, and you sneak drinks to paying customers on the regular.”

“To be fair,” Rosalie said, coming in with her father on her heels, “you did have a slayers drink free policy in place from day one. And watchers. So Buffy and Sam are freebies anyway.”

“What about fathers of slayers?” Wright asked, heaving himself onto the stool beside his brother. “And probable father-in-law of the owner?”

Nick favored him with a puppy dog look. “Mate, I’m trying to scrape up enough here to provide for her. How’s that supposed to happen if we keep giving away the wares?”

“Sounds like a problem that ain’t mine,” Wright shot back. “Now come on and pour me a shot.”

Nick just scowled and turned his ire back to Dawn. “You’re fired,” he said, pointing at her.

“I’ll work tomorrow, dude, get over it.”

“No, you’re fired.”

“So you’ll take no help over some help? Lest I remind you that your girlfriend is my boyfriend’s charge and he can make it very difficult for you two to have any nookie time.”

Wright perked up at that. “Can he? Is that a thing? I need to talk to Sam before we hit the road.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes and groaned. “Thanks for that, Dawn.”

“It’s your boyfriend’s fault,” Dawn replied, waving a hand. “He was being unreasonable.”

“Apparently it’s unreasonable to expect employees to show up every now and then,” Nick muttered.

“Dudes, I am not having this conversation again. Sam’s dick isn’t going to suck itself.” She smirked when Zack choked on the bottle of kitten blood he was throwing back at the moment. “I’ll see you back home.”

The drive to the bunker was a short one, and thankfully uneventful. The cemetery tonight didn’t look to be the happening place it was on other nights, though Rosalie and Wright might be responsible for as much. While she knew Buffy would need to get back out there soon, her sister deserved to just curl up with her vampire and relax before she got it in her head that she needed to start saving the world again.

Dawn parked Sam’s truck by the Impala rather crookedly—she was a better driver than Buffy, but that wasn’t saying much—and all but sprinted toward the door. Apparently, she’d arrived just in time for Mary and Giles to return with enough food to feed a small army, or Dean, as the case may be, and hurried to open the door for them.

“You’re back early,” Giles observed as he attempted to negotiate his way inside while balancing several overflowing bags.

“I hope you didn’t speed on your way here,” Mary chimed in, sounding dryly amused. “This little town might turn on us.”

“You have seen your other son drive, right?” Dawn plucked a few bags from Giles’s arms and carted them toward the map table. “Because if you haven’t, boy, do I have some news for you.”

Mary offered a small chuckle, then nodded toward the bedrooms. “Speaking of, why don’t you go ring the dinner bell? I imagine my boys are hungry.”

“Trip from Hell and Sam’s going to gorge himself on kale.” Dawn rolled her eyes but skipped off toward the room in question.

Her good spirits plummeted the second she turned to their hallway, the sound of angry grunting reaching her ears. Angry, familiar grunting. The door to Sam’s room was ajar, and he was definitely moving around in there. Dawn’s heart skipped and she picked up her pace. It wasn’t until she was pushing the door open, and the smell hit her, that she remembered the small child she’d abandoned in there to take Zack to Rosa Lee’s. Not exactly her best moment, she had to say. And not the homecoming her hero honey deserved after pulling not only his brother but her sister from Hell.

“Yeah,” Dawn said, drawing the word out as she stepped inside. “That’s my bad.”

Sam whipped his head up, his hair doing that totally unfair flowy thing, and met her eyes. For the first time since they’d started knocking socks, he didn’t look happy to see her. He looked, well, pissed.

“You left a baby in here,” he snapped, ripping the fitted sheet off the mattress. “An _infant_, Dawn. And a magic one to boot. What the hell were you thinking?”

Okay, so maybe she deserved that. Well, she definitely deserved to be chastised for abandoning Oz but that Sam would go for that over, say, _hello_ or an aw-shucks shrug—especially after having been to Hell—flushed her with cold.

“I dunno,” Dawn replied, crossing her arms. “Maybe I was thinking that my sister, who dove into Hell to save our collective asses, was suddenly back and I wanted to see her? Tell her I was sorry for being a shit? Then maybe, because I’m not a parent, I forgot there was a child in here. Is the baby okay, at least? He didn’t roll off the bed and crack his head open, did he?”

“If only,” Sam muttered.

“Samuel Gilligan Winchester!”

He blinked. “Gilligan?”

“Yeah, I don’t know your middle name, so I went with that.”

“Do I really look like a Gilligan to you?”

“You look like an ass to me right about now. Do you have any idea how many traffic laws I broke getting back here once I heard you were home? And this is the greeting I get?”

She expected the scowl on Sam’s face to melt at that as he realized that, yes, this was the first time they’d seen each other since he’d been back. She expected him to drop the attitude and come over to greet her with the kiss they both wanted. She expected anything but the frosty smile he aimed her way.

“No one told you to do that,” he replied. “Just like no one told you that my room was a good place to keep an infant. Or to _be _at all when I’m not here.” He tossed the sheet to the ground and stared at it for a moment like it had offended him. “You should go.”

For a moment, the words didn’t compute. It would have been less surprising if he’d slapped her. Dawn furrowed her brow and edged closer to him. None of this made any sense. “What the hell is going on?”

Sam met her gaze again, his own stony. “Did you hear me? I said I think you need to go.”

“Is this the soulless version of you I’ve heard about? ‘Cause yeah, that guy’s an ass.”

“I mean it, Dawn,” he snapped. “I’m not good to be around right now and I don’t want to hurt you, so just go.”

Dawn stared at him, trembling. Ever since she and Sam had started fooling around, she’d felt, well, grown-up. More so than she ever had with her other boyfriends, and definitely more than she had in school. It had seemed real in ways no other relationship had, maybe because the feelings on her end were very intense, not to mention adult. And she’d wanted to exude confidence, take control, be assertive, which was something she’d never done before. Sam had made her feel empowered and in charge, like an equal.

Right now, the way he was looking at her, she felt three inches tall and about as vulnerable as she had ever been.

“All right. I’ll go.” Dawn backed up, not taking her eyes off him until she was at the door. “Welcome back from Hell, assface. I missed you.”

Then, without another word, she turned and headed back down the hall. She didn’t pause, didn’t blink when she passed Mary and Giles, didn’t bother to answer the calls of her name or the questions they lobbed at her back. She just kept moving until she was back in the driver’s seat of Sam’s truck, gripping the steering wheel so hard she could rip it from the dash. At the moment, she didn’t know what she planned to do or go. Just somewhere else. Not the bar—they’d ask too many questions. Just…elsewhere.

And if Sam threw a hissy when she got back that she’d taken his truck? She would punch him in the goddamn throat.

*~*~*

They had just collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs when the knock sounded at the door, followed by Mary’s voice.

“Dean?”

Dean lifted his head from Faith’s shoulder, still panting. “Don’t come in.”

There was a snicker. “Don’t worry. But there’s food. Figured you might need the calories.”

Beneath him, Faith gave a snicker, then another one when he arched an eyebrow and looked back at her. “What? She knows you well.” She leaned up to kiss him before gently pushing him back. “Let’s go get you fed, Ducky. It’ll help your endurance.”

He grabbed her hand before she could roll out of bed completely. “I still got you there. Might be fresh off a drought but I know what you feel like when you come.”

“Coulda been faking,” she teased. “Haven’t done that before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“You’ve never faked it?”

She shrugged. “Why would I? If the ass couldn’t get me off, I ain’t the type to put on a show to stroke his ego. Fuck that shit.”

“So you didn’t fake it.” Now he was worried. Being inside of her after three months had been almost too good, especially when that soft look in her eyes and the words he knew he didn’t deserve on her lips. For reunion sex, it had been good but not his best performance.

“I’d stroke your ego, Ducky. Different when you love the guy, right?”

His chest tightened and he fought to keep from bursting out like a goddamned baby at the words. “Just tell me you didn’t fake it.”

“Will telling you make it true?”

“Faith—”

She rolled her eyes as she slipped into her tank top, then strolled over and kissed him. “You made me squirt, dumbass. You think I can fake that?”

Oh, well, she had a point. “Guess it was too much to hope I could get you off again with my dick.” He hadn’t had stamina to write home about. Especially when she kept whispering that she loved him. It had been either burst into tears or bust a nut, and he’d gone with Option B, though he figured he’d have done his fill of Option A before the night was through.

“Had enough fun just feeling you again,” she said in a small voice, her gaze on the floor. Faith grabbed her yoga pants off the ground and shimmied into them. She didn’t bother with panties, which would not be at _all _distracting during dinner. Not like he didn’t have distractions enough with the way his heart refused to stop leaping every time he replayed the words she’d given him.

That she could tease him, smile at him, say things like that, tell him she loved him after everything, felt a bit too unreal. When he rose to his feet, he found his legs were shaking. It would hit him, he knew, everything that had happened since Sammy had appeared in the box, and it had in pieces. But part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something stupid like slipped and cracked his head open in the shower. Maybe everything that had followed was an elaborate fantasy concocted by want and brain injury.

Dean managed to get into his pajama bottoms, which were still damp from his brilliant cross-bunker run, and into a T-shirt. At the door, he grabbed Faith by the wrist and turned her to look at him. Though when their eyes connected, whatever he’d been about to say flitted right out of his head. He stared at her, likely gaping, fighting to find words or anything that would satisfy all the things burning inside.

“It’s okay,” she said a moment later, then sealed the space between them with a kiss.

But it wasn’t. None of this was okay. Not the way they’d left things, the things he’d said—it had been a while, but he hadn’t stopped playing that fight on repeat once since the night he’d left. The awful things he’d lobbed at her, the stricken look in her eyes and the pain in her voice when she’d answered. Yeah, there had been anger, and loads of it, but that was how Faith responded to pain. She took it, reshaped it into a weapon, and used it to fight back. If not that, she’d find a place to bury it and never speak of it again. But they had to talk about it, no matter how hard it was. No matter how much he fucking didn’t want to. He owed her that.

“No, it’s not,” he said hoarsely, tears stinging his eyes again. “It’s not okay, Fay. What I did to you—”

“Now ain’t the time to get into it, Ducky.” She patted his stomach. “Let’s get you fed.”

At the thought of food, his stomach gave a long growl, and hunger overpowered his shame. Yeah, he needed to eat. Not just for the calories, though that was a bonus, but so he had his wits about him when they finally did talk.

“Yeah,” he said. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, “I love you.”

Faith inhaled and nodded, though in a way he could tell she was close to losing it all over again too.

“You said in that…that last video that it’s been longer for me, and I might not be there anymore.” He shook his head. “Bein’ down there, knowing what I did to you… Watching you on my phone over and over… I’m in it now more than I ever was, and I was fucking in it before. That’s what I mean when I say that.”

“Dean—”

“I honestly don’t know why you’re still here after this but I ain’t gonna try to talk you out of it. But…I needed you to know that.”

Faith was quiet a moment. “Did plenty wrong on my end too.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Dean, we can talk this out now, but I just hauled your ass outta Hell, and you might not be hungry but I am.” She paused and smirked at him. “And who the hell are we kidding? Your tummy’s been growling since Nebraska. Let’s calorie-up and go from there. Okay?”

Right. He wasn’t used to standing in his own way when it came to food, but this was important too. He needed her to know that he understood just how badly he’d fucked up, that he knew what this meant to her, that he wouldn’t take for granted the fact that she was still with him. Wasn’t like he was a pro at this talking shit, either, but he owed it to her. He doubted he’d ever be square with her again.

And he was okay with that, just so long as she understood what a raw deal she was getting and kept on not caring. Kept on being his kitty. Kept on loving him, despite how little he deserved it.

*~*~*

There wasn’t much talking during dinner. Not that Dean would have had the chance to say much, given how he shoveled food down his gullet. Would just be her luck that she managed to get her ducky to safety for him to choke on something, but Faith kept her mouth shut. The guy hadn’t had anything to eat in three months.

Something was up with Sammy—that much Faith discerned from the muted looks Mary and Giles kept throwing the man, who did little more than stare moodily at his food while pushing pieces of greenery around his plate. Mary mentioned Dawn—apparently, the girl had swung by then flown back out at breakneck speeds. Sam had pinched his face together in a scowl, grumbled something about baby poop in his bed, and said he’d talk to her later.

Faith wasn’t sure if this was something to worry about. She hadn’t seen Dawn and Sam on the outs since they’d started knocking boots, but it was hardly like she was an expert in relationships—having barely survived the first real fight she and Dean had gotten in—and maybe they were just due one blowup. The girl hadn’t been too thrilled to be left behind while everyone saddled up and marched into Hell, Sammy’s logic aside. Still, given how Sam had helped her remain standing upright while the world had crashed around her, Faith couldn’t help but feel somewhat beholden, even protective.

But Sam hadn’t been in the mood to talk and Faith’s concern for him wasn’t great enough to surmount the knowledge that she and Dean needed to discuss the things they hadn’t yet discussed. So she’d decided to shelve prodding the moose-bear until tomorrow.

Also, she knew she was stalling when it came to Dean. It was one thing talking to his phone, but another completely when he had his eyes on her and she couldn’t just stop and walk away when things got too real. But what she’d said in her last message was true—she wanted to get better at it. She had to.

“Verdict is in on that beard of yours,” Faith said as she collected their to-go containers. “We’re getting rid of it right the hell now.”

Dean glanced down, trying to eyeball the beard in question. “What?”

She leaned over and plucked a piece of fry that had gotten tangled in the hairs and held it up.

A light blush tinted his cheeks. “I’d say it’s the post-Hell diet, but we both know—”

“Yeah, we both know. Let’s go ax that thing, shall we?”

“Thank god,” Mary said teasingly. “I don’t know if I could’ve sat through another dinner like that.”

“Literally just got back from freakin’ Hell. You’d think you two could give a guy a break.” But Dean winked at her, took the trash from her hands and stalked off. “I’ll grab some scissors.”

Five minutes later, Faith was perched on the lip of the bathroom sink. The faint outline of the message she’d left in the mirror had still been visible when they’d entered, and from the way her heart started thundering, she knew this was the moment. If the reminder hadn’t been enough, the way Dean looked at her as she started combing through the hairs on his face and snipping them off certainly did.

“You said Lucifer showed you what he showed me,” Dean said at length. Well, blurted.

The memory had her wrinkling her nose. “Yeah,” she said. “It was graphic.” She paused, remembering something, and her mouth twitched. “Fucker’s idea of seduction is way off base. He switched out Wes for him after a minute. Woulda tossed my cookies, but the girl playin’ me started crooning over how much she loved his dick and I lost my shit. Guess I’m lucky he still needed me to be his baby mama, otherwise he mighta fried this kitty’s ass for as hard as I laughed at him.” Faith met his eyes but couldn’t hold his gaze. “I meant what I said, Ducky. I saw how fucking real it was. You told me he gets in your head but I wasn’t prepared for that shit.”

“But _I_ should have been,” he replied, his voice low. “Everythin’ he was throwin’ at us, how hard he was gunnin’ for you… Fay, I should’ve known. I…” He broke off with a long shudder. “You might have not told me everythin’, but you told me enough.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Faith—”

“_Dean_,” she shot back, looking at him fully now and snipping off a matted clump of beard. “I was havin’ one-sided conversations with your goddamned phone. Too fucking chicken-shit to say anything to your face. Didn’t start off that way—started off with me mouthin’ off about something else.”

“I know. Chucky.”

Her mouth twitched. “Just how pissed were you when you saw that?”

“Pissed? Baby, I was fucking elated. Didn’t have anythin’ else. Ro sent me a vid of you singing that Ben Folds song and I watched that on repeat, but it fucking gutted me every time. Seein’ you smiling at me, running your mouth and giving me shit was… Well, it was awesome and awful.”

Damn. She’d forgotten about her drunken karaoke moment. Or that Ro had filmed it. “Ears musta been bleeding by then too. I woulda been up for a different kind of abuse, myself.”

“What killed me was knowin’ you were singing about me.”

Faith nodded, flicked her gaze to his then back to the strokes the scissors made along his jawline, grateful she had a reason not to look at him directly. “I don’t do vulnerable too well, Ducky,” she murmured, heat tingeing her cheeks. “Ain’t natural for me. Think I told you once that when anyone was with me, it was always about other people. I’ve been a stand-in my whole fucking life. Never got attached to anyone if I could help it. Really attached. Figured there was a reason everyone around me really wanted someone else.”

He cupped her cheek. She looked up, realized she was close to tears, then down again.

“Like I said earlier—in that vid I left tonight. I can handle it if I ain’t around to see it. Like a cat, I guess. Lick my wounds by my lonesome. But the thought of openin’ up and talking to someone like that when I could see them?” She lowered the scissors, afraid she might accidentally knick him, then held up her shaking hand. “See this shit? This is what I wanted to avoid. Was easier just…talking to you without you bein’ there to react. Think I hoped at first that you’d find them eventually and then we’d high-five and that’d be it.” A pause. “But the deeper we got the more I knew that wasn’t gonna cut it. And I wanted to start gettin’ better at it, ‘cause you deserved to hear everything, open as you were with me. I just didn’t know how to do it. I still don’t. Think that’s why I resisted the love thing as long as I did—or wasn’t bright enough to realize I’d been there probably from the moment you first told me.”

“Fuck.” Dean pressed his lips to her brow, and she felt how hard he was trembling. “And you think because of this, you got some blame for what happened to me?”

“I know I do.”

“Baby, do you think I didn’t know this?” He pulled back. “I mean, yeah, maybe not how you felt about everything, but that this was new for you? Fuck, I thought I’d been here before but all this has been new for me too. Kept thinkin’ you’d wise up one of these days anyway and take a hike, find someone a little less banged up. I was gearin’ up for the big hurt when that day came but knew I deserved it ‘cause there was no fuckin’ way I’d ever be able to keep you around for good.”

“Dean—”

“So yeah, when Lucy showed me that shit, it was everything I figured was comin’ but hoped never would. And hearing you tell another dude you loved him?” Dean shook his head again. “Bitch of it is I’d just started thinkin’ optimistically, and _that_ ain’t natural. Lost my goddamned head. Didn’t stop and think. Just…_believed _it ‘cause it was never gonna be me you chose. Then I turned around and proved why.”

Faith went back to shearing off the length of his beard, giving her mind a minute to work. “Not gonna tell you it didn’t hurt, ‘cause you know better. But—”

“I threw everything in the shitter. All of it. Knew it the second you walked out.”

At this, she arched an eyebrow. “Walked out to keep from breakin’ something valuable. I was always comin’ back.”

“I told you not to. I remember that.”

“Yeah, and I ain’t good at doin’ what I’m told.” At this point, she knew she was stalling. She’d gotten the bulk of the overgrowth off his face and the rest was up to a razor, but without something to do with her hands, she felt naked. Faith inhaled deeply and forced herself to set the scissors aside. “I didn’t know what had happened, ‘cept you knew I’d run into Wes and hadn’t mentioned it. Knew I was hot and liable to do some damage, mad as I was, and I didn’t wanna hurt you. Figured we’d both use a breather then we could talk it out. That was the plan, at least, when I left. Then I got to the bar and decided to get toasted.” She swallowed. “Sammy tried to figure out what had happened—offered to help me kick your ass.”

Dean snickered at that. “Like you’d need help.”

“No, but I appreciated the thought. But then he got that phone call from G and…” And then she’d been in motion. Head swimming, legs trembling, heart thundering as she pounded the steps toward the cemetery. Not even really knowing how she knew to go there, but that it made sense. It felt like where Dean would go to talk to the devil. “Got there just in time to watch Lucifer send you off.”

This seemed to startle him. “You…you were there?”

“Not in time. Giles let us know what was goin’ down and I just lit out. Maybe if I hadn’t been so fucking drunk, the whole trip to Hell wouldn’t have happened.”

The look that crossed his face was a marriage between wonder and shame, and because she could see more of his face now, it hit her harder. How much he didn’t think he was worth it—worth anything. How that belief had shaped his reaction to what should have been immediately identifiable as a ploy. That had never been about her or Wes—it had been about love. His conviction that he couldn’t have it, or worse, didn’t deserve it. That he was unlovable.

Faith took his face in her hands and forced herself to keep his gaze when he looked at her. This was important.

“Dean, I made tracks because I am ass over tits in love with you. And it turns out that ain’t the kinda thing that you can shake off after a fight. Might be scared outta my mind but I know when to hold my ground—when I got somethin’ worth doin’ battle for. You think for a second that I considered us over when I left, then you really are a slow learner. I was just gearin’ up to knock some sense into you when I knew that the knockin’ wouldn’t leave you with a broken bone or twenty. Even if Cass can patch that shit up.” She smiled. “I ain’t about to put permanent ink on my body if it means I ain’t in it to win it. Give me something to believe in and I’ll go down fighting for it, even if it hurts like a motherfucker. Only way I was shippin’ off was if you didn’t want it anymore. If I couldn’t at least…try.”

Dean was crying openly, nodding though she could tell he still didn’t fully believe it. And that was okay, she decided. She could reinforce it every day going forward. The better she got at this openness thing, the more he’d have to believe it. He’d have no choice.

“You got the raw end of this,” he said after a minute. “Just as long as you know that.”

“I got exactly what I want. Nothin’ raw about that.”

“Well, then you have shitty standards.” He barked a laugh and shook his head. “But I ain’t gonna complain.”

Faith let that one go—it would be a while before Dean saw in himself what she did. And hell, he might never. He saw a fuckload in her that she didn’t, and had since the beginning. But then she remembered what she’d told Wes, how Dean believed in her for the both of them and she did the same for him. Maybe one day they would meet in the middle, but until then, that would be enough.

She stood and watched as Dean tended to the remainder of his beard, and when he finally threw the towel on the floor—by the clothes pile he’d left in here earlier—he looked more like her ducky. The hair was still a bit on the long side, but his face was clear again, and all that mattered was that she could see all of him.

“What do you say we establish a rule?” Dean asked as she led him back to their room.

“Kinky.”

He chuckled and pulled her to him once the door was closed. “Not that kinda rule, Kitty, but we can come back to that. Thinkin’ more for when we get into it goin’ forward, ‘cause we both know that’ll happen. You are a bitch.”

“Cunt.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far, but—”

“You, Ducky, are a cunt.”

He shrugged, some of the light she loved coming back into his eyes. “Are what you eat.” He winked. “Things get heated like they did—not just like that ‘cause I’m not sure I can do that again, but we need time to cool off. Just quack at me.”

“Quack?”

“Quack quack,” he repeated. “’Cause this slow learner might be fool enough to do something stupid. You say that and maybe it’ll get through. Remind me that you…” He swallowed. “That you love me and it ain’t over even if it feels like it could be. And I’ll do the same for you.”

“Good plan except I ain’t a slow learner.”

“Dunno about that, Kitty. You thought I might not want this anymore, so I think you have your moments.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “You went to Hell because of me.”

“I went to Hell because of _me_. You’re the idiot who got me out. I’m pretty much your bitch for life.”

And before she could come up with a response, he kissed her, and she decided that she was done talking for the night. If they needed to go over more, they would.

But not now.


	95. Chapter 95

Dean woke up realizing that months without food had reactivated his digestive system in ways that no way reflected the awesomeness of feeling Faith snuggled up against him. He bit his lip from vocalizing his disappointment in his gut and gingerly pulled himself away and up out of bed.

After getting dressed, he hit the shitter and then decided to go and check the bunker for activity. If it was still too early, he’d just grab a drink and go back to his little slice of Heaven down the hall.

Coming up to the kitchen, he’d heard voices but hadn’t expected to be tackled the second after he crossed the threshold. Glancing down, he recognized the blonde hair and the bone-crushing grip. “Ro,” he choked, “killing me really defeats the whole rescue. _Ow!_”

“Sorry!” the youngest Slayer quipped as she dropped her arms and stepped back. “Just really stoked to have you back.”

“Sounded like you and Faith _kissed_ and made up,” Wright drawled as he sat at the table sipping his coffee.

Dean didn’t pretend anything else as he beamed back. “Yup.”

“So you two are back on as a dynamic romantic duo?” Rose inquired.

“Yup.” He chuckled as he found a mug. “Batman and Cat Woman will get back to solving crimes after a brief word from the sponsors.”

“That’s what you kids call it these days,” Mary teased as she strolled in. Then she looked at Dean’s face and gave a thumb up. “Much better.”

“Thanks,” he told his mom before handing his cup over to her to grab another. He felt better shedding the beard and a whole lot of the baggage between him and Faith. Whatever was left was all shit he knew they’d be able to handle. Together.

“Did you happen to run into Sam?” Rosalie asked. “He hasn’t shown up for our daily jog. I didn’t want to go poking around because Dawn has been _very_ intent on her intentions last night.”

“Dawn left out of here last night in a huff,” Mary said.

Something clicked in Dean’s head that hadn’t last night. “And Sam had been a grumpy bitch.” He looked at his mom and suddenly felt guilty. “They had a fight.” He sighed. “And here I was being a self-centered dick.”

“You’d literally just endured months in _Hell_,” Wright balked. “Cut yourself a little slack there, Winchester.”

Dean snorted. Apparently Wright and he hadn’t spent enough time together if the dude thought that was gonna happen. “I’ll go check on Sammy,” he said, heading off to the sleeping quarters.

He was about to knock on his brother’s door when movement at the end of the hall caught his attention. His hot little girlfriend walked out of the bathroom wearing her yoga pants and one of his Zeppelin tees. With her hair still mussed as she rubbed her eyes and padded toward him, it struck him how she could be wearing a garbage bag and he’d still wanna bone her.

“Mornin’ Kitty.”

She looked up with him and wrinkled her nose. “I think we need to call the coroner because someone _died_ in that bathroom. I may have thrown up a little.”

Dean knew he gave himself away from the way his face flushed. “Asshole. Douche should have at least used the spray under the sink.”

“Yeah, they did. Made it smell like someone died in the rainforest.” She paused and looked at him more closely. “God, was that three months of shit you dumped in there?”

“It’s not very ladylike to talk about—”

“Ladylike?” she replied with laughter. “Was it ladylike the way I made you stick your tongue up—”

“Shhh,” he teased. “Can’t go saying that where the other girls can hear. Don’t wanna make ‘em jealous.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss.

Like usual, it turned into a lot more than kissing as they started full-on making out. Only after he’d slipped a hand up the shirt to fondle her bare breast and she started to stroke him through the fabric of his pajama bottoms that the warning bells kicked on in his brain. “You wanna fuck in the hallway?”

She pulled back and favored him with a pout. “No. Don’t wanna make the boys all jealous of my T and A.”

“_My _T and A,” he said with a cocky grin.

“You do have a fine ass, but my tits beat yours hands down.” Faith gave him a wink.

“Wasn’t talking about me,” he said, tugging her close and then tapping the spot in her pants where the tattoo was located. “Cat’s out of the bag now that you got my mark on ya. You’re _mine_.”

“Is that what it means?” Faith mocked. “‘Cause from where I’m standing, I still have full control of this attraction. I can let on any rider I’d like.”

He knew she was fucking with him and he loved it. “Well, I’m pretty sure I got me a fast pass, so good luck anyone else getting on board.”

“It can always be shut down for maintenance.”

“Good thing I’m mechanically inclined and _very _good with my hands.”

There was a loud groan of disgust that broke the moment as Dean and Faith looked down the hall to see Dawn standing about ten feet away. “You two are repulsive,” she declared.

“Hey,” Faith snapped, “don’t go hurling insults because your fella didn’t give it to you last night.”

“Fay,” Dean chastised quietly, “don’t start with the low blows.”

She rolled her eyes but snatched his hand. “Fine.” The Slayer looked at Dawn before beginning to tug Dean down the hall. “Hope your dick gives you his dick now. Later.”

“Really?” Dean asked as she led him down to their room. “Dick gives you his dick?”

Faith gave him a warning look. “You wanna ride before breakfast or not, Ducky?”

He scoffed. “Obviously,” Dean said, shutting the door.

*~*~*

Sam had barely slept. Every time he drifted off, memories of his stint on demon blood would consume him—the good and the bad. How awesome it had made him feel, even if he knew it was wrong. How horrified and angry he had been when he’d realized Ruby had been using him to free Lucifer from the cage. Every time he awoke he’d find the bottle of blood in his hand and begin to weigh his options all over again.

He’d just fallen asleep when the light flicked on and the door slammed. He bolted upright as he saw Dawn glaring at him with her arms crossed and her face a blotchy mess of emotion. “Fuck you, Sam Winchester.”

He said the only thing that came to mind. “Huh?”

“I knew you were in a bad mood. I fucking told you sorry about the baby thing—which wasn’t _that_ big of a damn deal considering everything. I left and gave you time and fuck if you didn’t call or anything. So, yes, fuck you. Fuck you and your high horse. Fuck you and your stupid thinking that nobody can make an honest mistake.”

“Dawn,” he said and froze. The bottle was clutched in his grasp and he couldn’t let her see it.

“What was that?” she asked as he quickly slipped his hand under the covers.

“You’re not making any sense,” he told her in an attempt to draw her back to yelling at him.

She started toward him. “Was that a bottle?” She shook her head. “You coulda just called me instead of hitting the hooch. I know the trip to Hell had to be harder than it sounded—and it sounded impossible. And I know how when you’re exhausted you can get moody and short-tempered—we all do that.”

Panic set in as she walked up next to the bed. “I think you should go,” he told her.

“You did that trick last night. It worked once, but not gonna get me again, buddy.”

“Dawn,” he warned. “You really need to leave.”

“Or what?” she teased as she sat down on the bed. “Don’t even begin with some righteous speech about how you aren’t good enough or that the bad stuff in your past makes you bad now. And if you play the dangerous card, I’ll just trump you with my Key card. So,” Dawn began to slip her hand under the blanket. “Let’s just quit with the whole song and dance and make this thing official.”

It was fear and not truth that made him speak. “All I want is for you to leave me alone.”

The look on her face couldn’t have been more hurt had he reached out and slapped her. “Seriously?”

No. It was the furthest thing from the truth. The truth was he was ashamed of the demon blood in his hand and how badly he wanted it. The truth was he was ashamed to allow Dawn to see how weak and dirty and rotten he was deep down inside. The truth was he was scared to confide in her because he knew she would make him do the right thing and pour the blood down the drain instead of into his mouth.

“Whatever we had,” he said doing his best to not choke on his words, “it was…” Incredible? Amazing? The first time he’d felt like he had a chance to have it all? “Nice. But it was temporary. A fling. That’s it.”

“Fuck you, Sam Winchester,” Dawn whispered as tears spilled from her eyes.

After she stormed out and slammed the door behind her, Sam released a shuddering breath. Blinking hard to keep his own tears at bay, he grabbed the bottle, twisted the top and gave in to his darkest temptation.

It was better this way, Sam told himself. Dawn deserved better than a demon-blood addicted freak.

*~*~*

The sedation had worn off, but Sam couldn’t find the will to get out of bed. He tried telling himself that he needed to look after Oz, but knew there were more than enough people about to feed and change and hold his son. _His son._

He didn’t think he could look at Oz and not see Willow. He prayed he could recover in time to be some kind of father, but at the moment he just felt cold and empty inside.

Maybe it had been stupid to think he and Willow would have had any chance for a real relationship. Their two distinct worlds had clashed by happenstance. Their explosive chemistry wasn’t supposed to exist, let alone endure everything fate had thrown at them. But it had. And Sam didn’t know if he could recover from the hole Willow had left in his soul.

There was a soft knock on the door before a head popped inside. “Hello,” a vaguely familiar voice said before opening the door and walking inside. “Sorry to bother, but Sabrina wanted to make sure the sedative hadn’t been too strong.” He held up a tray. “She also was concerned you may be hungry.”

“I’m not,” Sam curtly responded.

“I know,” the man he now recognized as Wesley Pryce said in a soft voice. “Eventually you’ll just have to force yourself to eat. Took me a year to actually enjoy food again.”

Something clicked in Sam’s brain and he remembered now that he had lost his fiancée. “Does it ever get better?”

Wes favored him with a small wistful smile. “No.” He sighed. “They say time makes it easier, but it’s not true. Time just allows you to adjust to the pain. Allows you to remember how to function. It never gets easier and it never gets better.”

He appreciated the honesty, even if it hurt. “But you moved on? With Sabrina, right?”

Wes looked to the door before sitting down on the edge of the bed next to where Sam was laying. “I’ll _always _love Fred with every fiber of my soul. I can’t stop and I don’t believe I would even if it possible. I care for Sabrina but don’t know if I can ever love like I did with Fred. But it isn’t an all or nothing concept with love, is it? You love your son and you love your family. I love my family as well, even if I did things that caused them to quit loving me in return.”

Sam nodded. “I just…there’s this hole inside that’s eating me alive.”

Wes nodded. “I tried to fill it with bitterness and revenge.” He gave a short humorless chuckle. “Doesn’t work.” He sighed. “You have a son and a career to help you through.”

Sam just didn’t think he was ready to try yet. “Could you tell them I’m asleep? Just so they leave me alone, please?”

“Of course.” Wes stood up and gave him a last look. “It goes without saying that I’m sorry, Sam, but if you ever need to talk…”

“Thank you.”

Sam closed his eyes as he heard the door shut. Maybe sleep would give him a break.

*~*~*

“Can I touch it?” Ron asked as he stared intently at the glowing orb in the center of the table. “I mean, what does a soul even feel like?”

Hermione slapped his shoulder. “You can’t go around feeling up people’s _souls_, Ronald.”

Sabrina bit back a snicker. Buffy caught it and gave her a tiny smirk before addressing the group. “What happens if we break the glass? Will it go and pop back into Angel and fix the problem?”

“Maybe?” Harry said hesitantly. “Though I’m not sure. We destroyed the pieces of Voldemort’s soul within the Horcruxes.”

“Can I break it?” Spike asked. “Please?”

“Hold on.” Buffy laughed. “We first gotta figure out what we need to do to get it back to its rightful owner. Pretty sure we’re gonna have to go on an Angelus hunt for one.”

“I’m kinda more on the team for smashing it and seeing what happens,” Zack said.

“Agreement with Spike,” Giles said dryly. “Let’s all pretend to be surprised.” He kept his gaze on the orb. “But Buffy has a point.”

“Look who’s predictable now,” Zack grumbled.

Giles ignored him. “Aside from needing to acquire an Orb of Thesulah, it would appear that each successful attempt has happened when in his direct presence.”

Sabrina was listening so intently that she didn’t notice anyone come up behind her. It wasn’t until a hot rush of breath tickled her ear moments before she heard. “What the hell is glowing on the table?”

Whipping around, she saw a clean-shaven and smiling Dean and she found herself tugging him into a hug before she could stop and consider the fact they’d never even shook hands.

He shook in a quiet chuckle and she breathed a sigh of relief when she felt him return the embrace. He bent his head down to her ear once more. “Thank you, by the way. Sure didn’t deserve you riskin’ your ass to get me, but it meant the world.”

Shit. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “Seemed like the sisterly thing to do.” Pulling back, she did a nonchalant wipe of her eyes and sniffed.

“Awesome,” he said in a thick voice before dropping his arms. “‘Cause I kinda always wanted a little sister. If we don’t count Sam.”

She snickered at him. Then she caught Faith next to him and stopped. They hadn’t exactly become besties quite yet.

“What is the thing on the table?” she asked, acknowledging she’d heard their little exchange.

“It’s the soul of the vampire Angelus.”

Faith’s eyes went wide and her attention quickly went from Sabrina to the orb and lastly to the greater group. “What in the actual fuck are we dealing with here?” she loudly questioned.

Buffy gave her a big grin. “Welcome to the party. Wanna help Angel get his soul back? I got a twenty for whoever finds him first.”

“Shit, B,” the woman said, expelling a breath. “You don’t waste time in between your crazy heroics. I was kinda enjoying a day off.”

“Yeah, we were,” Dean said in a suggestive but quiet voice. The dark-haired slayer heard and turned to flash him a wink.

“I found it in Crowley’s office.” A dark shadow crossed Buffy’s face. “Long story short is I swiped when I left.”

“Speaking of that son of a bitch.” Dean whipped out his phone before looking at Buffy. “He kept you hostage? Did he hurt you?”

Buffy hugged herself and looked down. Then Spike wrapped an arm around her and nestled against her. “Yes,” he answered for her. “Tortured her for her soul.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Sabrina couldn’t think of a proper way to apologize for having been locked up and tortured. It seemed she wasn’t alone. Dean spoke first. “Buffy, I’m sorry. You wouldn’t have even _met _the fucker if it wasn’t for me.”

“It’s not your fault. I got bamboozled by the idea of an easy plan. What’s that saying about if it’s too good to be true?”

Dean shook his head and started hitting his phone. “Well, first things first, we kill this motherfucker once and for all.” He brought the phone to his ear.

Spike snorted. “Trust me, no bloody way he’s gonna answer.”

“Where the fuck are you?” Dean spat into the phone.

“Told ya, mate—”

“You _fucking tortured_ her,” Dean bellowed. “Do you think I give a flying fuck what they did to your meat suit?”

Spike’s eyes grew wide. “Fucker actually answered.” Then he growled and began marching forward.

“It _doesn’t _count as a promise if you were bringing her back after you ripped her soul out! That’s the exact _opposite _of the deal.”

“Somebody trace that call,” Spike said in a dangerous voice. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No!” Dean said a tone that was just as menacing as the vampire’s. “You listen to me. Next time I see you, I’m killing you once and for all. No smoke. No bullshit. You fucked with one of us for the last time. Watch your back ‘cause we’re coming for you and I know more shit on you than anyone past, present or future. Settle your tab, ‘cause your night’s over.” He ended the call.

A nervous titter escaped Ron’s lip. “Did you just threaten the bloody King of Hell?”

Dean frowned and shrugged. “We just fucking fought the devil and won. In comparison, Crowley’s just a little bitch. You took down Voldemort and we brought down Heaven, Hell and God’s sister.”

“I believe we’ve beat a god or two ourselves,” Giles added.

“So yeah,” Dean continued. “Call me cocky, but with the Mega Avengers assembled, pretty sure we got it handled.”

“Mega Avengers?” Faith snickered.

“Broad Squad doesn’t feel inclusive,” he teased before raising his palm.

“We’re working on the team name,” Faith said as she gave him a high-five. “Though I am kinda liking Broad Squad the more I say it in my head.”

Sabrina felt for the first time ever that she might have finally found a spot that she could truly feel at home.


	96. Chapter 96

She couldn’t stay here. This became obvious within the first hour following the breakup. Because Dawn had gone and done a stupid thing—had let herself fall in love with the big oaf of a Winchester. And being around him after he’d ended things just… Well, it wasn’t going to happen. Especially with everyone else coupling off and so nauseatingly into each other there was practically zero breathing room.

She remembered briefly having asked Mary which one of her sons was the manwhore when she’d arrived. Well, joke was on her because the manwhore was officially in a Relationship—the kind with a capital R. With _Faith _of all people, and Sam—the sweet, sensitive, soulful of the two—had turned out to be a jerk.

Except maybe it was her fault. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so gung-ho on getting Sam into bed that she’d managed to give him the impression this was a fling for her. She had a tendency, exacerbated by her upbringing and a host of abandonment issues, to act tougher than she was. Maybe Sam hadn’t realized just how far in it she was, because she couldn’t see him stringing her along if the only thing he cared about was sex.

Ugh. So did not matter. Nothing did. Dawn gave her room another glance before slinging her duffle bag onto her shoulder. It had been nice, having a place to call home these past couple of months, but she was a nomad by nature these days and getting back on the road would feel good. Normal, even. And she could do with some normal.

The only people she felt she owed an explanation to before she hit the road were Buffy, Spike, and Nick. Though she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to swing by Rosa Lee’s—Sam was there if he wasn’t at the bunker, and she wasn’t about to look for him here. So she chose the chicken-shit way to break the news of her discontinued employment and slid a note under Nick’s door.

_Nick,_

_I won’t pretend that I was a star employee or anything, but I am sorry to do this like this. Long story short, Sam dumped me and I don’t think I can be around here anymore. So I’m hitting the road, which means you’re short one bartender. I am sorry about that, and all the times I was a crappy employee. I know there’s bad blood between you two, but if Sabrina’s staying in town, odds are Wes will, too, and you could at least make his life miserable if you were his boss. Like, off the top of my head, you could make him clean the toilets after that Fungus Demon birthday bash next weekend. Besides, with as often as Sam, Dean, and Faith are there, he’ll never have a moment’s peace. Just a thought, probably a bad one, but I didn’t want to leave you high and dry without any options. Maybe Sabrina herself will want to work there. She has to be on the DL now, anyway, right?_

_Again, sorry for bailing. But you quit your job and moved to freaking Kansas for love, so I’m guessing you can understand why I need to leave because of it. Also, if you put ex-lax in Sam’s drinks, I definitely wouldn’t mind hearing the outcome._

_Thanks for giving me a chance. Sorry I blew it._

_\- Dawn_

The other goodbyes she had to give in person, though she wasn’t looking forward to it. Aside from the fact that she’d almost lost her sister for good and had been an absolute shit to her before she’d taken the dive, Dawn was truly going to miss Buffy. The relationship they’d started to develop, though definitely not without its rough patches, had been the sort of thing she’d always wanted to experience. Buffy treating her like an adult and not a kid, bringing her into group conversations and relying on her opinion as a hunter, rather than the Slayer’s annoying kid sis.

Just proved why being an optimist was stupid.

Dawn knocked on Buffy’s door, hoping against hope her sister was here. She thought she was—the group meet aside, Buffy was extra sensitive about being around humans at the moment. At least until the harder blood was out of her system.

A moment later, the door opened, and Dawn released a breath. Buffy was indeed here.

“Hey. You heading somewhere?” Buffy asked, eyeing the duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Then her expression softened as realization set in. “You’re leaving.”

Dawn swallowed and nodded. “I have to,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can’t stay here. He…” She paused and tried to glance around her sister. “Spike’s not in there, is he?”

“He went out for blood,” Buffy replied with a wan smile. “Though if you’re leaving for the reason I think you’re leaving, you might want to wait until he gets back. I’m pretty sure he’ll thrash a certain Winchester black and blue.”

“I don’t want Sam thrashed.” Well, she did, but it sounded way more adult if she played it cool. “He never promised me anything. We never talked, even, about what it was we were doing. I guess I just thought…if Dean was going to get all serious about someone then Sam would be twelve steps ahead of him, you know?”

Buffy gave a short nod, hesitated, then threw her arms around Dawn’s neck and pulled her in for a hug. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Dawnie.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’ve been dumped and it sucks beyond the telling of it.” She pulled back. “Especially when it comes from tall broody types who are way too serious about their hair.”

“Did you just compare Sam to Angel?”

“Umm, duh?” Buffy crossed her arms. “I don’t love Angel, obviously. Not like that. And it’s been years since I did, but I remember how much it crushed me when he left. I thought I was dying. It _felt _like I was dying. And I know Sam’s the first guy you’ve been serious about so I know this hurts. Maybe not like high school melodrama, but maybe worse, because you aren’t a shiny teenager anymore and had a firmer idea of what your life would look like.”

Dawn nodded, her eyes stinging, but damn, she didn’t want to cry here. Or at all. She didn’t want to have given Sam that much of her emotional real estate. She just wanted to move on and put Kansas, Sam, and everything else so far in her rearview mirror the shapes were distorted and indiscernible.

She just wanted to breathe.

“Wait just a second,” Buffy said before disappearing into her room again. When she reappeared, it was with a wad of cash, which she stuffed into Dawn’s hand. “Open a bank account,” she said seriously. “Spike and I will send you money to keep you afloat.”

Great, now she had guilt on top of everything else. “Aren’t I supposed to be paying you and Giles back for the tuition money I squandered?”

“Yes, and you will. But Spike and I are immortal so there’s no rush and Giles… Giles probably would forget the whole thing if you asked him to. You know how he is.” Buffy folded Dawn’s fingers over the cash and looked at her seriously. “It’s more worth it to me knowing you’re not stranded. This should tide you over until you get that account opened. Once you do, give me the details and we’ll set up an automatic transfer.”

“We?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Okay, so, I will set up an automatic transfer because yes, my mate is allergic to technology.”

Dawn sniffed hard, overwhelmed and unsure of what to say. This was so not what she’d expected when she’d come over to say her goodbyes. In the end, the only thing she could do was throw herself into her sister’s arms again and hope that Buffy read the message between the lines.

“You check in once a week,” Buffy murmured. “At a minimum. And let us know if you get in a jam.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know, sweetie. But you don’t have to. Not always. That’s what family’s for.”

Any chance that she’d get out of the bunker, out of Kansas, without bawling like a baby went up in smoke. And for a few minutes, Dawn let herself really hate Sam for what he’d done to her—that he’d made her feel these things, hurt like this, that he’d been sweet and wonderful and everything she’d ever wanted up until the time he hadn’t, because she was quite sure that she’d never felt anything worse than this in her life.

And that was truly saying something.

*~*~*

Faith hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she’d been enjoying her day off. Hell, after the last few days—make that since she’d been spat back onto terra firma altogether—she’d been moving at a pace that would kill lesser people. The amount of living she’d stuffed into these last two or three weeks was overwhelming. Not too long ago, she’d been the definition of a lone wolf. No attachments to anyone or anything—not the sort that were life-changing, at any rate.

Now she was saying the l-word to a guy she genuinely l’ed. And it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she and Dean had reconciled the shit that had gone wrong, and she was sitting in the meeting room, staring blankly at the glowing orb in the middle of it, her hands flat on the surface of the large table and her chin on her hands.

The last time she’d seen Angel was so far back in her mind she wasn’t sure she could trust it. Wolfram and Hart had extracted the soul quietly the second time it’d gone missing, and Angelus with his mind-games had played the role of soulful repentant well those first few days before he’d tried to get her into bed. Something the real Angel would never have done. Faith didn’t think she’d ever seized a blade as fast as she had that day, and when Angelus had started to laugh at her, everything inside of her had shattered.

But that was years in the past now—Wolfram and Hart had learned from their mistakes, keeping Angel’s soul well-guarded to prevent anyone from shoving it back inside of him. And the last thing she’d known…

Angelus had been there that night in the cemetery, and the lawyer bitch had crowed about how a Dementor had consumed the soul for good. Faith hadn’t had much time to experience anything more than a pang at that before all hell had broken loose, but damn, it had hurt. Though she hadn’t known how she’d do it—especially since no one else at Wright and Pryce seemed all that concerned or interested in Angel’s fate—she’d always intended to do whatever she could to save her friend. It was the least she could do.

Now here she was, staring at a thing she’d thought lost. The soul belonging to her best friend—because that’s what he was. As close as she was to Nick and Ro, as much as she valued where she was with Buffy now, the relationship she had with Angel was deeper than any other. He’d gotten her as no one else had.

She felt a pressure at her back and mentally corrected herself. That wasn’t true anymore. Hadn’t been since Dean had come into her life.

“Still lookin’ at that ugly thing?” Dean asked, taking a seat beside her, gently rubbing her back.

“Trying to figure out what to do with it,” she replied. “Cass got a look, said there’s some industrial-strength magic keepin’ it inside. Not sure if he can lift it and the Hogwarts gang ain’t exactly used to this shit.”

“Angel’s the guy you tried to bone the soul out of that one time, right?”

Faith arched an eyebrow and favored Dean with a narrowed look. She knew he was kidding with her, but she needed to drive home just how serious she was about this. “Angel’s the reason I’m here at all, Ducky. Pretty sure I woulda capped my own ass if it hadn’t been for him. Or gotten myself killed by those lawyer jackholes.”

“Well, we’ll figure something out,” Dean replied. “Not sayin’ I’m a fan of the guy, especially after talking with Spike—”

“Spike and Angel have a pissing contest that goes back a hundred years and some change. He ain’t exactly gonna give you an impartial opinion.”

“Yeah, I got that too.” Dean offered a slight grin. “Can’t say I blame the guy, though. Not after hearin’ what the vamp did to Buffy.”

“Zack Morris did the same fucking thing to B and he’s considered family. And you know what not havin’ a soul does to some people.”

Dean inclined his head. “All right, fair point.”

Faith drew back, worked the kinks out of her muscles and stretched her arms over her head. “No one had any goddamn reason to give me a chance. Everyone was gunnin’ for me then and I deserved it. That’s when I grabbed Wes and tortured the shit out of him. Did it so Angel would get so fuckin’ pissed when he found me that he’d put an end to my miserable life. Death by cop, only with fangs, you know?”

She’d told him all of this already, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. Saying it aloud made it all real. And she deserved to hear it often—deserved the pain that came with remembering what that hopelessness had felt like.

For his part, Dean didn’t reply, but he nodded.

“Woulda been within his right to do it. Instead, he figured I could be saved. Even after all that.” Faith blinked, a familiar pressure gathering in her sinuses, and fuck all, she did not want to cry. Spent too much fucking time doing that as of late and she was over it. “Because of Angel, I turned myself into the cops, confessed to my sins, and got my ass into jail. He was the first person in my fucking world who didn’t give up on me and that’s the kinda thing I can’t ever repay.”

“Fay, you don’t need to convince me. If you’re here because of what he did, that’s good enough for me.”

Faith was quiet a moment, then offered a soft smile. “Thanks,” she murmured before glancing around to make sure no one was lurking in the corners before she leaned over to steal a quick kiss. Granted, the second her lips touched his, the part of her dedicated to self-preservation took a hiatus as the rest of her assumed control. And Dean was on the same page, because he cupped her cheeks and drew her closer to him, mouth moving in slow, languid strokes that had her tingling in all the right places. They’d had a few rounds of reunion sex, though not as much as she figured others suspected—getting the guy back to the rabbit-like pace they’d been enjoying before would likely take a couple more days—but truly for the first time in her life, she felt insatiable. Really insatiable. Which was saying something because Dean had had her at what she’d thought was insatiable before all this had happened, but things were different now. Charged in ways they hadn’t been, and it was because she knew she loved him. Not just that he loved her, but that the love was mutual and out in the open. It changed things for her and made her want more with every damn taste.

Hell, she was about three seconds away from crawling into his lap when a throat cleared.

Faith pulled away, breathing hard. She didn’t look away from Dean when she spoke. “B, not one goddamn word.”

She turned just as Buffy stepped into the room proper, grinning but not in a mean neener-neener way. “Pretty sure I am the last person to talk on the planet,” she replied.

“Second to last,” Dean said, his voice deep and growly like it got when he was really turned on. Buffy was fucking lucky she had that ring on, or Faith might stake the bitch on principle. “Top honor goes to that fangy hubby of yours.”

“Fair point,” Buffy said dryly. “I wasn’t planning on interrupting anything but I wanted to see if you’d come up with anything Angel-wise.” She waved vaguely at the glowing ball of soul. “Spike is being exactly as helpful as you’d expect. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re the only other person on the planet who’s on Team Reensoul.”

Faith nodded, forcing her mind out of the place it had been so ready to go just a second ago. “Dean’s on the team now too.”

When Buffy arched an eyebrow and looked at Dean, he just shrugged and draped an arm around Faith’s shoulders. “Kinda partial to this one, and way I hear it, the dude helped her when she needed it, making it possible for her to be here.” He grinned. “I’m easy.”

Buffy offered a soft smile. “Angel always did get Faith better than anyone else. Used to make me crazy with jealousy, but, hey, I get it now.”

“Also he ain’t been your boyfriend in a while,” Faith agreed. “Probably helps.”

“It’s definitely that or the days of rape and torture. One or the other.” Buffy fell into the seat across from her, eyeing the orb. “And yeah, I know. But he still looks like the spitting image of the guy who did all that, and it’s not exactly easy to put in the rearview.”

“B, you sure do get kidnapped and tortured a lot.”

Buffy snorted. “I know, right? It’s seriously annoying.”

At that, Dean sobered and leaned forward. “Hey,” he said a bit roughly. “About… I am sorry for that. You’ll never know how sorry. And mark my words, I will kill the son of a bitch, assuming Spike doesn’t beat me to it.”

“Since your name’s not Crowley, I’m gonna say that’s a dumb thing to be sorry for,” Buffy replied. “I told you—it’s on me. I fell for the trap and talked everyone else into it. And, for the record, if anyone’s killing Crowley, I so call dibs.”

Dean nodded. “’Course. That’s fair.”

Buffy glanced back to the soul, then met Faith’s eyes. “Last I knew, Angelus was in LA. I’m not sure what kind of leash Wolfram and Hart has him on, but I think our best bet, once we figure out how to access his soul and assuming we don’t have any new information by the time that happens, is to head back there.”

“He was there that night at the cemetery,” Faith replied. “Said some gross shit and…” She frowned, turned to Dean. “And I think you shot him, Ducky. Am I remembering that right?”

“Dunno. Shot a lot of shit that night.”

“Well, someone shot him and said somethin’ about huffle-somethings.”

At that, Dean turned a bit red and squirmed. “Nope, wasn’t me. Musta been Sammy.”

Translation: it had totally been Dean. Faith grinned and leaned toward him to begin prying the information out. “What did you say?” she asked, grabbing his knee under the table. “I have ways of making you talk.”

“Nothin’. It was nothin’. It wasn’t even me. It was Sammy—”

“What was?” Sam asked as he strode into the room, and damn, the boy looked like shit. His eyes had large bags beneath them and his normally perfect hair was in a tangle. Immediately, Faith’s defenses went up, and she straightened, exchanged a concerned glance with Dean.

But before either of them could reply, Buffy had risen to her feet and turned to face him, and the look on her face was unlike anything Faith had seen there before. It stole whatever she’d planned to say right the fuck out of her mouth.

“Sam,” Buffy said in a deceptively calm tone, “you remember what happened after the panty incident? How Spike almost beat you to death?”

Sam had gone ramrod still, and something flashed across his eyes.

“My sister has left,” she told him coolly. “Took her stuff and hit the road. And I know you’re the reason.”

“Buffy—”

“And I like you, Sam. I do. You and Dean have become family.” She took a step forward. “Which is why I’m not going to do what my demon is telling me I want very much to do, which is rip your throat out for breaking her heart. And I’m fresh back on the no-human-blood wagon, so my control is just barely there at the moment, you understand?”

Sam stared at her, wide-eyed, and worked his throat. “Yeah.”

“Good. And here’s the second part.” Another step forward. “You hurt her again like that, and all bets are off.”

“Hey, Buffy—” Faith said.

“No, I know. I know everyone’s friends here and Sam’s family and all that, but Dawn is _my _family and I don’t mess around when people hurt my sister.” She glanced over her shoulder and looked directly at Dean. “Okay?”

Faith glanced to Dean, whose expression was unreadable—he was either stunned stupid or furious or begrudgingly accepting in that older sibling way of his. Or he didn’t know what. He didn’t reply, verbally or otherwise, but held her gaze as she disappeared back down the hall.

Faith released a long breath, shot a questioning look at Sam, who just gaped at them for a few seconds before turning and disappearing as well.

“Fuck,” Dean said as soon as they were alone again. He turned to her. “Baby—”

“Go,” she said, waving at Sam.

“God, you’re the best.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips before exploding into motion, speed-walking down the hall where Sam had vanished.

Faith watched him go, pressed her lips together, then slowly rose to her feet. And felt a bit guilty for being so damn relieved that whatever was going on now didn’t involve her or Dean in the slightest.

But not too guilty. They’d fucking earned it.

*~*~*

When Willow awoke, it was back. She felt it. And thank goddess, because being cut off from her magic was its own kind of torture. Somewhat like wandering around without an arm or leg, and trying to move as though everything was in working order. It was the logical result of having exhausted her magical stores, and nothing less than that would have been enough to contain the devil.

Granted, she was still running on empty. It would take a few days to get back to one-hundred percent, but she felt reasonably confident she had enough juice to make this trip a whole lot easier.

Apparation came easy for Willow. She’d only splinched herself a few times and knew the danger of doing so increased tenfold when she wasn’t at her best. Hopefully, if Harry and Hermione were still with the Winchesters, they’d have some Dittany on-hand, because this might not be the easiest ride.

Willow closed her eyes, focused as hard as she could on the bunker, then turned and felt herself squeeze through the hole of time and space, leaving Hell behind.


	97. Chapter 97

“What the hell, dude?” Dean asked the moment he closed his brother’s door. “And I mean what the actual _hell_ did you say to invoke the sibling threat?” He gestured emphatically toward the door. “Because by sheer principle of the sibling code, I gotta now keep _two_ vampires from eating your ass.” He grunted. “And Buffy keeps mentioning that human blood in a way that makes me want to start locking them in the dungeon before bed.”

Dean noticed how Sam hadn’t stopped laying out clothes on the bed. “You going after her then?”

“What?” Sam said, breaking to look at him.

“The packing—assuming you’re off to go fix it with Dawnie.”

Sam gasped at him before looking at the shirt in his hand with a similarly puzzled stare. “I…I really don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted in a small voice.

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face before walking over to flop down on the edge of the bed. “This about the blood, ain’t it? You’re still thinking about it and it’s got you freaked.”

“W-why would you say that?” Sam took a nervous shuffle back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean said with an eye roll. “Maybe ’cause I’ve seen it before. And I know we don’t talk about it ’cause it ain’t how we do, but I know you fight it all the time. I haven’t given you enough credit, but I’m pretty proud of you. Most dudes—”

“Don’t,” Sam spat. He shook his head. “Just…don’t.”

A thought crossed Dean’s mind and he couldn’t unthink it. Acknowledging it was gonna piss him off either way, Dean asked, “You slipped up, didn’t you?”

Dean got his answer the second Sam didn’t burst out in righteous indignation. A bomb went off inside Dean’s chest as he struggled with the knowledge. “You got more?”

Sam turned away from him. “No.”

Dean didn’t know if he trusted him, but he was gonna give him a shot as long as he kept answering straight. “How’d you get it?”

“I…pickpocketed Buffy.” A pause. “During a hug in Hell.”

“So Dawn was just a bad reaction,” Dean reasoned. “That should be easy to fix once you come all down.”

“No,” Sam said shaking his head fervently. “Dawn was before I…” He swallowed. “I screwed up, Dean.” He collapsed on the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

“It’s gonna be okay. We will getcha dried out, then we explain it all to Dawn.”

“_No!_” he roared.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, throwing his hands up. “Chillax, I just—”

“Nobody can know this,” Sam said in a panic. “Nobody and _especially _not Dawn.”

Dean so didn’t want to play this game. “Secrets don’t make friends, little buddy.”

“This could cost me my job, Dean. We don’t know who they’d send in to replace me, but we all know it wouldn’t be good. Then, what if the Men of Letters get involved and want us out of the bunker?”

Fuck. Dean hadn’t begun to think of any of that. “Fuck.”

“Not to mention what it would do to Rose. Or Mom. Or Sabrina. You think she’ll want to stay to hang out with her demon blood addict brother?” Sam shuddered. “And as much as it hurts, I know this is the right call on Dawn. She deserves better. I’ve screwed it up every step of the way—taking too long, the whole panty debacle, always being too busy to give her the special attention she deserved. Seems fitting I fuck up the breakup and make it worse.”

“We’ve been in the middle of apocalypse for the whole duration of your active relationship. Cut yourself some slack, jack.”

“Didn’t stop you and Faith.” And he’d be damned if he didn’t hear jealousy in his little brother’s voice.

“Fay and I are kinda an exception to the rule.” He paused and snickered. “All the rules. And fuck if it don’t still freak me out,” he admitted. “’Cause the whole deal doesn’t make a lick of sense…until I’m near her and nothing else makes sense but her and me together.”

“Dude,” Sam groaned. “Don’t start telling me your bedroom shit.”

Dean barked a laugh. “For once, I wasn’t playing in the gutter. I mean her and me and all the real couple shit—talking and sharing and snuggles. Stuff I ain’t gonna repeat again out of embarrassment. Like just before you’d walked up, she’d said she wanted to give this Angel vamp his soul back and I didn’t pitch a bitch. That was because she’d told me how this guy had saved her from her dark shit. Something I bet she’s not shared with anyone else. And I’ve shared some of my biggest shit with her. Why? My only guess is because we both saw each other in each other. That or we were playing a game trying to push each other away before it got too heavy.” He grinned. “Spoiler alert: we failed.”

Sam flashed a wan smile in his direction. “I’ve determined you two are twins separated at birth. That or soulmates.”

“Can I choose the one without the incest?” Dean said, wrinkling his nose. Then he shook his head and got back on track. “So, how you think we’re gonna keep a lid on this?”

“Maybe I take off a few days and hole up somewhere.”

Dean scowled. “You think I’m just gonna let you slip off when your resistance is weakest? Not that I don’t trust you, but—”

“I can’t detox when everyone’s watching. And I know Buffy and Spike are still hoarding Crowley’s blood.”

“So we get the blood out and put you on quarantine. Tell people you got the flu or something.”

“Dean, please, just give me a few days. Tell them all I went and took a case to clear my head. I don’t want anyone—even Faith—to know about my mistake.”

“That’s a low fucking blow,” Dean grumbled. “We just had a whole fight and trip to Hell inspired by not communicating shit and now you’re asking me to _lie_ to her? The same chick who was there helping you out?”

“It’s bad enough telling _you_ I fucked up,” Sam said as his voice cracked. “I don’t want to see her reaction. I don’t want to see _anyone’s _reaction, Dean.”

“If she asks me point blank, I ain’t lying. And you better catch her when you swing out and tell your own story. I’ll pull your wool for everyone else, but I can’t do it on her. I’m sorry, Sammy, but I can’t.”

Sam nodded. “I get it. The stuff I said to Dawn—it was just a fling—it killed me to say it because it was bullshit. Truth of the matter was I cared about her—_care _about her—and I really really thought we had a shot.”

“You still have a shot.”

“I never had a shot,” Sam disagreed. “But it was pretty awesome while it lasted.”

“Don’t make me turn into that guy in the romantic movies that has to trick you two into meeting and falling back in love.”

“You know I still got that time I caught you wearing women’s underwear.”

Dean balked. “They didn’t have my size in men’s.” That was a lie.

“That’s a lie,” Sam declared, standing up.

“Shut up,” Dean snapped rising to his feet. “Can’t prove anything.” Then he slipped out his wallet and pulled out all the cash on him before shoving the wad toward him. “It’s all I got, but I figure you ain’t gonna wanna use the company card.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, taking the money. “And thank you for trusting me.”

Dean nodded. “I’m still proud of you,” he told him. “One slip doesn’t erase all the days you didn’t.” He had to pull back before he became a crybaby. It was bad enough blabbering in front of Faith, but tearing up on Sammy would revoke his Man Card. “And if you slip again I’m locking you in the dungeon and making you watch my sex tape. While Fay wanted to see more of my cock, I guarantee you see enough of it to scar you for life.”

“Soulmates or just both two very fucked up people.”

Dean rocked back on his heels with a grin. “Why can’t it be both?”

*~*~*

Willow didn’t open her eyes when she landed. A little piece of her was afraid she ended up back in that hotel room where she’d spent most of the last couple weeks. Or she would wake up and find out she hadn’t really made it from the box at all.

“What the _fuck?_”

Well, that wouldn’t be part of her dream. Popping her eyes open, she saw Faith standing before her with a knife in her hand. “I _told _Dean we needed to carry weapons around here,” she muttered. Then she raised her voice. “Stay there and don’t move.”

Willow blinked in confusion. “What? I went and saved your boyfriend from Hell. And _sacrificed _my life for you! Now you don’t trust me again?”

Faith flinched at that but kept her blade up in a defensive position. “Depends on if you’re really Red. Funny how you pop back up right in front of me alone.”

Willow grumbled. “I need to see my son. I Apparated here because it was the room I remembered most. You were a coincidence because I give no damns about you at the moment.”

Faith arched a brow. “Yeah, ’cause Will would be running around in _my_ clothes that are showing all that cleavage and curves. Not a Lucy kinda thing at all,” she sarcastically drawled.

Willow looked down. “_Hello!_” she cried at her breasts that were practically falling out. “How can you fight in this thing?”

“One: I don’t have new mom boobs. Two: fuck off. Boys like these titties,” she said, taking her hands to grope herself.

Willow rolled her eyes and went to cast her clothes changing charm. Nothing happened. “No, no, no,” she murmured. “_Not_ how Mommy wants to say hello.”

“Daddy’s gonna love it,” Faith snickered as she began slowly lowering her knife. “You really Willow?”

“Pretty sure Lucifer would be hitting on you by now,” Willow snapped. “And not trying to get _away_ from you.”

“One test: tell me something only the real Red would know.”

Willow thought there were a lot of bad things she could invoke from the past, but it just didn’t seem right. Who was she to judge anyone for their past crimes? She knew better than anyone that people could change and the Faith she saw now was a good person who had fought to save people. And she was apparently in love. “That duck,” she said quietly.

Faith scoffed. “Not even trying considering _Lucifer_ gave it to me.”

“You took it to Hell with you—probably stuffed it in there when nobody was watching. You tried to be discreet, but you rolled over in the night and I saw you cradling it while you slept. How I expect you wanted to hold him.”

Faith swallowed and stowed her knife into the holster at her back. “Yeah, I guess that works.”

“Where’s my son?” She needed to see Oz. She hadn’t even had time to properly hold him for more than a few minutes in months. She planned on picking him up and not letting go for at least a week.

“Uhhh, I’m not sure. One of the rooms down the turn from the bathroom. Hogwarts was all down there, but they mentioned a trip back to England to see their kiddos and ship back the Zacks’.” She shrugged. “If the tyke is in a crib, bets are with Kelly or Giles. G is kinda surprisingly—though not ‘cause we all went and got old—a total grandpa. Makes me wanna give him Jello or macaroni art.”

Willow determines the only thing weirder than Faith was Faith in a good mood. She took off in the direction of the rooms. She’d cheated and opened a few shut doors because she just couldn’t wait to hold her baby. She’d wrestle Giles if she had to.

Oz picked the perfect time to omit a whiney wail. Willow had never actually been delighted to hear a baby cry before. She sprang and opened the door. Sam had been in the process of changing Oz’s diaper. He held the little fella’s tushy in the air by his ankles. “Willow?” Sam gasped. He was frozen in shock.

She blinked back the stinging in her eyes. “Honey, I’m home?” she said in a watery voice.

“This isn’t a dream?” Sam asked almost numbly.

She blinked and looked down. “You change diapers in your fantasies?”

“Oh god,” he said as a laugh and a cry. “I’m so lost I don’t even know anymore,” he admitted.

Willow walked forward. “Either way, just finish changing him so I can hold him, please.”

Sam bent down to fold the diaper over when a comedically perfect stream erupted from Oz and shot his dad in the face. “Not dreaming! Not dreaming!” He groaned. “God, I wish I was dreaming.”

Willow couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh gosh,” she said, springing forward to handle Oz so that Sam could step back and clean himself.

“I think he peed in my mouth,” he grunted with disgust. He palmed his forehead. “The Peepee Teepee! Dammit, I remember now that boys have a thing about peeing when they hit open air.”

Willow snickered. “I remember the Peepee Teepee. I ordered one online the day I found out he was a boy.” Then all her amusement melted away as guilt and sadness filled her. She’d been a great mom—until he was born. “I’m so sorry,” she told her fussy baby as she finished attaching the diaper and hoisted him up to her chest.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “But can you clean me up now?”

“Oh,” she replied as she looked up from Oz for a moment. “Actually, my power is running on empty now. I had to sleep for…” She thought. “Not even sure. But I tried to do a simple charm after I got to the bunker and was zapped.”

“Figures,” Sam muttered under his breath as he began pulling out fistfuls of baby wipes.

Willow sank down on the bed and inhaled Oz’s baby scent as she clutched him. She relished the way that she felt him relax and curl into her embrace. “I’m not letting him out of my sight,” she warned. “I mean non-stop 24/7 snuggling, cuddling and…wuddling?”

“How long?” he lightly replied.

“Weeks. Months. How long it takes for preschool.”

“Do you want me to point out all the ways that’s impractical or impossible?”

Willow gave him a smug smile. “I can bring him to the shower and bathroom as soon as my powers are back.” Then a lightbulb went off. “Or put him in his car seat.”

Sam nodded and then pulled the wet tee over his head and she almost choked on her gasp. How had she _forgotten_ how ripped he was for his position in life? She was pretty sure he could beat Spike and Dean at a sexy ab contest. “Granted,” he said as he turned and headed over to the sink. He grabbed a bottle off mouthwash and popped the top before poising to take a swallow. “There’s more than those where you’ll want privacy.”

Willow had never been turned on by gargling. They had so much to discuss and talk about, but suddenly she was just tired and horny. “Sex.”

Sam gagged and sputtered his mouthwash into the sink. He coughed for several seconds before grabbing a hand towel and turning as he wiped his face. “I thought eating and talking to Buffy and your family.” He cleared his throat. “But sex sounds good—better even.”

Her face flamed as she threw her eyes off him. “Ignore me. My mouth filter and brain filter are jet-lagged.”

Sam came up and stroked her hair. “You want to eat first or shower?”

“I really think we should talk,” she admitted.

“We will,” he promised. “After you shower, eat and get some sleep.”

Willow shook her head as tears ran down her cheeks. “How are you so calm and understanding after everything I’ve done? After I stayed in Hell to trap Lucifer in the box?”

“I wanna say it’s because I’m a mature and composed man, but I also popped a Xanax about an hour ago. Kinda think it’s helping me out.”

He was adorable. And a dork. “You’re adorkable,” she declared, standing up. “Lead the way.”

*~*~*

Her first thought after Willow disappeared was she had to tell someone. Next, an image of Ducky came to mind and she had to smile. It was those little things that would take some time to get used to. Shaking it off, she made way to where she expected him to be.

“Knock, knock,” she announced as she rapped her knuckles on the door. “Gossip calling.”

The door swung open and her shaggy maned Ducky gave her a bemused expression. “Hello?”

She spotted Sam packing a bag over on the bed. “He going to get Dawn back?”

Dean winced a little. “Sammy?” he called over his shoulder. “Wanna tell Faith whatcha doin’?”

Faith arched her brow. “You’re acting weird and Willow’s back.”

“And Lucifer?”

“I forgot to ask,” she admitted quickly before turning back to Sam. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m gonna go take a break for a few days,” Sam said, not looking at her when he spoke. “Maybe a light case or two. Kinda a mini-mental vacation. Clear my head.”

Now it made sense. “The bloodlust,” she said with a nod. “I get it. Take a few and let the cravings get back to manageable. We all need some space sometime. Smart of you to get a handle on it before you make a fuck up. Plus, we’re good on the apocalypse front for a least a couple days.”

“Don’t jinx us, woman,” Dean warned. “If one breaks in the next forty-eight, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam said slowly, zipping his bag. “I’d prefer to just leave it with I need a little break.”

“Just check in every night.” When she caught Dean smirking at her she stuck out her tongue. “‘Cause we both know he’s gonna act like an oversized man baby if you don’t.”

“I’ll man baby _you_,” Dean countered before he scrunched his nose. “That made no sense and I know it.”

“I will,” Sam promised. “Now leave my room so I know you two don’t stay and use my bed while I’m gone.”

“They smell like fresh sheets,” Dean commented as he began to walk out.

Faith followed and almost laughed at how little effort the two guys put into their formal goodbye. “See ya,” Dean called over his shoulder as he headed toward his room.

“Yeah, bye,” Sam said as he took off toward the garage.

“That’s so emotional I almost cried,” she mocked.

Dean shrugged. “We only pull that out at life and death moments…then one of us usually dies.”

“Is that how you want us to do it?” She wasn’t really sure how they were playing this going forward.

He made it to their room and opened the door before gesturing her inside. “Not particularly, no.” Shutting the door, he turned and flashed her a boyish smile. “I kinda liked how things were going before the giant fuck up. I want a lot more of that.” Then he paused. “Except we save the videos of sex tapes only—or mainly. ‘Cause I liked the ones where you talked about how good I was with my tongue or how fine my ass is, too.”

God, she felt herself blush. “Shut up.”

“Oh no,” he teased. “I kinda wanna watch a few of those together. You can’t tell me you didn’t get hot watching the replay.”

“Are we gonna keep putting off the deep talk about everything?” She knew what he was doing because she’d been doing the same thing.

Dean sighed and then sat down on the bed. “Truth is I know we need to say more, but I don’t know what. We both blame ourselves for what happened with Lucifer but argue it wasn’t the other’s fault. Fine. Kinda seems like while we don’t forgive ourselves, you forgive me and I have nothing to forgive ‘cause you didn’t do shit wrong—”

“Ducky,” she snapped.

“Whatever,” he said bringing his hands up in defensive. “Tomato, tomato.” A dopey grin crossed his face. “You love me. I love you. We gotta safe word for our next big fight—and maybe a _safe-word_ ‘cause I know how we both play.” He waggled his brows. “Plus, I think you’ve officially moved up to my live-in girlfriend now.”

“Does it count if we live with your mom?” she teased as she came to sit behind him.

“Yeah, you’re with a dude who’s not long from hitting forty with no job, no cash and lives with his mom. Congratulations, Kitty, you landed yourself a loser.”

“You gotta hot car, a memory foam mattress and an impressive collection of novelty tees for a guy about to hit old age.”

“Watch it,” he grumbled while fighting a smirk.

“Well, I ain’t got a job, cash, car, mattress or tees. And I live with your mother. So, I’ll call it a draw.”

“You can have rights to the mattress and the tees.”

“Baby?” she teased.

He looked almost nauseous. “That would have to be part of a wedding prenup or something. ‘Cause she comes back to me fully in a divorce.”

She barked a laugh. “Went straight from living together to divorce. Nice, Ducky.”

“You know what you were getting from the start.”

“Is it too late to take it all back?” Faith asked as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Yup. You inked me. That means you’re stuck with me forever.” He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her hair.

Nuzzling against him, she savored how nice it was just to have this moment alone. “We probably should start looking into this whole Angel thing.”

“Or,” he said, pulling back slightly. “And this is just a theory. Instead of that—right now for example—we get all naked and curl up under the sheets and discuss where I should put my kitty tattoo.”

“So you want to _copy _my grand gesture?” She couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Copy? No. More like complete the set. Plus I’m giving you full control over the what, where, and when.”

She cackled evilly as she looked at him. “You’re stupid, Ducky.”

“I’m talking full Hello Kitty tramp stamp if you wanna.”

“You’re crazy,” she determined.

“In love,” he finished with a smirk.

She felt a little guilty, but there _really _wasn’t much she could do until they cracked the magical warding on the orb holding the soul. “Fine,” she sighed as she lifted her top off. “Let’s get naked.”

Dean looked surprised. “That worked?”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

“It’s because they haven’t cracked the orb warding, right?” He had stood and began stripping rapidly.

“See, I told people you weren’t as dumb as you look.”

“Joke’s on you, Kitty, ‘cause I look sexy with my fine ass.” He crawled into bed.

“Fine. Then you are dumber than you look.” Disrobing, she slipped under the covers and moved herself up against his warm flesh.

“Better remember the safe-word ‘cause I’m spankin’ you for that.”

“Don’t go makin’ promises you don’t intend to keep, Winchester.”

She watched the gleam in his eye as he leaned over and gave her a heavy slap on the ass. This was the man she’d fallen in love with. Her flirty, sexy, broody, goofy, moody, obnoxious and loving Ducky. “Just remember I control this tattoo you’re gettin’.”

“Does that mean you want it softer or harder?”

She leaned over and nipped his bottom lip. “Harder.”

Yeah, she figured they were good going forward.


	98. Chapter 98

Honestly, with as much as what had happened, Willow hadn’t given too much thought to the friends she’d left behind since the night she’d stood across from them on the battlefield. Too much had happened—the Hellmouth opening, Willow realizing that she wanted to build something with Sam, finishing the box, and then that awful moment just a few days ago when the truth had finally slammed into her senses. The betrayal she’d felt before, that Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione could have kept something as monumental and terrible a secret from her was something of lesser importance. So when she turned the corner into the kitchen, Oz in her arms, and ran smack dab into Harry, she wasn’t sure what to do or how to react.

“Harry.”

Harry froze, blinked at her comically, glanced at the child in her arms, then—almost as an afterthought—whipped out his wand. “I don’t know who you are, but if you think I’m going to let you go anywhere with my mate’s baby, I—”

“Harry. It’s me.”

“Bollocks. Willow is a bloody hero. She sacrificed herself to keep the devil in chains and I will _not _have you befouling her memory by wearing her face or stealing her child.”

Well, that was…unexpected. She blinked eyes that were suddenly stinging. “You…you really think that? Th-that I’m a hero? Even after everything I did?” She swallowed. “Harry, I tried to… Well, I wouldn’t have killed you or any of the others—not intentionally—but if Buffy hadn’t jumped into the Hellmouth? Who knows what might have happened? And that nearly cost her life. I-I haven’t seen her yet, but Sam told me that Buffy was tortured for over a year by a demon who was trying to steal her soul. Not much something with the heroics on part of yours truly.”

The fury contorting Harry’s face began to fade, though it was slow going. Those vivid green eyes of his flicked from Willow’s to the baby and back again. “Willow?” he asked, not lowering the wand but looking a lot less certain about using it. “This isn’t possible.”

Willow offered a soft grin, clutching Oz closer to her. “Really? You’re going with it’s impossible? I made the box and have roughly enough firepower to destroy the world a few times over.”

“You’re telling me—”

“I used up pretty much all my juice zapping Lucifer to smithereens, and then the rest of it getting out of the box and sealing it closed for what I hope is forever.” She swallowed. “Took a little while to repower, but when I did, I Apparated back here…and you really think I’m a hero?”

Harry blinked, breathing hard. At last, his hand began to lower, the point of his wand dipping. “Of course Willow Rosenberg is a bloody hero,” he said hoarsely. “Also one of the best friends I’ve ever had. One of the best people I know.”

“Even though she nearly ended the world? Twice now?”

“We are not the sum of our mistakes, rather the sum of what we learn from them.” Harry offered a small smile, stowing his wand into his pocket. “You’re really you?”

Willow bounced Oz in her arms, and giggled when he made a sound somewhere between a foghorn and a police siren, then began blowing bubbles—actual bubbles—out of his ears. “Yeah,” she said. “And running a little low on the magic juice. Took everything I had to Apparate here, otherwise I would have never left Sam’s room.”

Harry barked a laugh and edged forward, his arms extended. “Can I hug you?”

Willow glanced to the baby, then up again. “Uhh, arms are kinda full.”

“I can help with that,” came from behind her. The next thing Willow knew, Oz was pulled from her arms and into Ginny’s, and she was tugged into a massive hug from all sides.

And god, she didn’t know how to react, because it was more than just Harry. It was Ron and Hermione, too. She hadn’t even heard them come in, but they were there. Ron at her back, Hermione at her side, and Harry in front of her, holding her in a bear hug to end all bear hugs. And for a moment, she let herself enjoy it because, god, she’d missed them. Missed them and thought there was a chance she’d never have this with any of them again. That what had come before had been the death knell in their relationship and there wasn’t anywhere to go but down.

“You should have told me,” she heard herself say. It was becoming harder to keep herself from outright bawling. “The entire time, you should have told me.”

“We couldn’t,” Hermione said, sniffing. “And by the time we could, what good would it have done?” She pulled back and wiped at her own eyes. “Willow, you went to extreme lengths to protect yourself from that information. Lengths that no other witch or wizard in the known record has gone to. We didn’t know what all you were capable of—we still don’t. And we were well aware that there was little we could do to contain you if you decided to go dark again. The only option the Ministry had was to keep watch over you. Keep you and others safe. Hogwarts was the best place for you. It was built to withstand pretty much anything, and its ancient protections would keep you safe from any force that might attempt to trigger your power. In the event that you triggered it yourself, we knew we could keep the students safe.”

“We were asked to get close to you,” Harry said hoarsely. “To keep watch. We weren’t supposed to be your friends—that happened because we bloody like you.”

“Blimey, you’re a part of the family,” Ron agreed, nodding hard. “All of our families. That’s why we stayed here after the Ministry gave you the boot.”

“We know you. They don’t,” Harry agreed. “And we weren’t going home without you.”

God, this was too much. Way too much. Willow shook her head and broke away from her friends, approaching Ginny to take back her son. “I don’t deserve that,” she said softly. “Any of it. I keep making the same mistakes and thinking that if I get it right this time, everything else will be forgiven. The things I did in England… There is no forgiving that. Witches, wizards, watchers…_children_. I did that.”

“You were juiced on dark magic,” Ginny argued, rolling her eyes. “Believe me, Willow, in the many years that have elapsed since the incident, the Ministry of Magic has done a ton of research. There’s a whole bloody department dedicated to you, to learning what went wrong—if it was a magical mishap or not.”

“She’s right,” Hermione said quickly. “We had never considered the possibility before that magic itself can corrupt a person, rather that through a person magic becomes corrupted. But we knew so bloody little about witches like you. The way you interact with magic is fundamentally different than the way we do. You grew your magic, whereas we were born with it.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Willow replied. “Look… I understand why you all did what you did. And I love you—all of you. But…I’m not okay. I’ve been back for a grand total of ninety minutes, and I’ve spent most of it with an increasingly out-of-it version of my son’s father. I have no idea what’s going to come next… But…” She glanced to her son, who chose that moment to let out a whopper of a fart that had her lips twitching and Ron trying very hard not to fall into a fit of giggles. She looked up and met Harry’s eyes. “You think I’m a hero because of what I did to Lucifer.”

“Assuming he is still the box,” Ron added. “Skipped out on the _how. _Assume Harry’s already determined you’re really our Willow.”

“She is,” said a new voice—one Willow wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. Yet she didn’t have much room to talk, because if anything, Buffy had more than earned the right to dictate the terms of their next meeting.

Willow turned and met Buffy’s eyes, and something else inside of her began to shift. They hadn’t done much talking down below on the mission to rescue Dean Winchester—Buffy had gone to extraordinary lengths to avoid looking at her, and hadn’t so much as peeped a protest when Sam and Faith had informed her that Willow would be sealing herself inside the box with Lucifer if all went according to plan.

Something between them had broken, perhaps forever. That the knowledge hurt didn’t make it any less true, or any less than what she deserved.

“The smell,” Buffy said to the others. “Polyjuice Potion gets the face but not the smell. She smells like Willow.” She leveled her gaze back on Willow. “And Lucifer?”

“In the box,” Willow replied. “I locked him inside. Will probably need to revisit it every little bit to make sure the warding holds, but he won’t be going anywhere for a long time. Maybe ever.”

Buffy nodded, then diverted her gaze to the ground and made her way toward one of the refrigerators. “Good,” she said, opening the door. She pulled out a couple of bags of blood, then turned around and headed back toward the hall. “Mixing pig with demon right now,” she said by way of explanation. “Trying to wean off the hard stuff. See, I got kinda used to the power boost that comes in feeding off demons while I was in Hell.”

“Buffy—”

She stopped in the doorway, trembling slightly. “Lucifer is trapped,” she said. “That couldn’t have happened if the other stuff hadn’t happened. If you hadn’t removed the spell keeping us from our memories, if Lucifer hadn’t been interested enough in you to have you build the box in the first place. Because of everything that happened, the worst guy in the universe is under lock and key. That’s not a small thing, Will.” A pause, then Buffy looked over her shoulder and met her eyes. “It’s also not a small thing that you stood there while Lucifer set the man I love on fire. That the Hellmouth opened. That the last time you went dark, you tried to end the world by cracking open my sister. And that you thought you could make it better by making us forget. You gave Wolfram and Hart the blueprint they needed to erase some of the most important things from our lives.” She glanced to Harry, then Hermione and Ginny. “You guys might be willing to forgive and forget, but I don’t know if I will ever be. And while I’m not a Winchester, this place has become my home, so I’ll say this the once. Willow, I want your ass out of my bunker in twenty-four hours. Where you go, I don’t care. I really don’t. All I care about is that you stay away from me and my family. That’s Spike and Dawn, Zack and Kelly, Wright and Cordelia, Rose and Nick, Sam and Dean, and Faith now too. You come near us and I promise you’ll regret it.”

Then, without so much as a flicker, she turned and disappeared into the hall.

And that was it.

Willow didn’t realize she was crying until Harry wrapped his arm around her from behind. “It’s all right,” he said into her hair. “It takes time with some people.”

Yeah, it took time with some people. But Willow knew Buffy better than most anyone. This wasn’t something time could heal. This was a chapter of her life forever closed—the one separating the girl Willow from the witch she had become, and the people she’d trampled to get there.

One of the people she loved most in the world had just cut her out of her life. And the worst part was, Willow couldn’t even be angry.

As though sensing his mother’s sorrow, Oz began to wail.

*~*~*

Buffy was still shaking by the time she closed the door to the room she shared with Spike. It wasn’t often anymore she had true out-of-body experiences, but she was pretty sure that was what had just happened in the kitchen. Walking in there, seeing Willow chatting with her wizarding friends as though the past few weeks hadn’t happened—seeing her there _at all _when she was supposed to be serving time in Hell for the crimes she’d committed… The first instinct had been primal and damn near impossible to ignore—leap at the girl who had once been her best friend and see if witch blood had anything on the demon stuff.

But of course there had been a loophole. Put the world through its paces, try to destroy her friends, open the mouth to Hell and team up with the devil himself, and all she got was a timeout. It had barely been a day since they’d crawled out of Hell—how much time had Willow spent there, all told? Three months at most, perhaps fewer? Had she just popped back out the second they’d closed the door on her? Had she known she could walk away the entire time and just neglected to mention it?

Buffy felt the bones in her face change, and she glanced down at the pig’s blood in her hands. She had gone to grab the swine to help dull the taste of the remaining demon stuff, but the second she’d heard Willow’s voice…

There was a shuffle on the other side of the door, and for a moment, Buffy thought her former best friend might have been fool enough to follow her. For a moment _hoped _that was the case so she could let her fangs loose. But then the scent hit her and she deflated, somewhat disgusted with herself. She pushed herself off the door just as Spike shoved it open, and went to mix her dinner together.

“Slayer—”

“Willow’s back,” she said dully, opening one of the remaining jars of Crowley’s blood. She tore her fangs into the pig swill, then dumped the contents inside. “Chatting with Harry and the others. Big group hug. All’s forgiven.” She glanced at Spike and felt a thrill of satisfaction at the way his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed. “One big misunderstanding.”

Spike held her gaze for a moment, worked his throat. “Suppose that’s good to know,” he said in a voice that told her he was trying really, really hard not to vamp out and start throwing things. “Wager if I’d rounded a corner and got a look at her, I mighta slipped and caught my fangs in her throat. Guess everythin’ worked out even better than we thought, yeah?”

“I told her to leave before I moved her,” Buffy replied calmly, then brought the jar to her lips and threw back a swallow. “That she’s not welcome here and there would be consequences if she came near me and mine again.”

It was rather satisfying, knowing she could still shock the hell out of him even after all these years. Spike’s eyebrows shot to his hairline and he favored her with a long once-over.

“Can you help me? You look and smell like a bird I know, but you can’t be her.” He stepped closer, his lips twitching. “My lady has a soft heart, see. Especially for those who don’t bloody deserve it. Your taste is more to my liking, but problem is, I’m head over for her and if I don’t find her soon, heads will bloody roll.”

Buffy smirked, pressed her lips to his, then groaned when he groaned and attacked back with enthusiasm. After a moment, though, she pulled away—mostly because she was afraid she’d drop the jar, and blood this good shouldn’t go to waste.

“Mmm,” Spike murmured, and licked at the corner of her mouth. “Taste like her, too. Gettin’ me all mixed up.”

“Let’s just say a year and some change in Hell can really put things in perspective.”

The playfulness in his eyes faded almost immediately, and she could have kicked herself for ruining the moment. The big fight she’d anticipated having the second they touched back on solid ground again had yet to occur, and she was getting a little antsy waiting for it, especially after the way Spike had exploded on Zack and Kelly the day before.

She knew just how angry he was—had felt it when he’d ushered her into the shower they’d claimed as their own. When he’d pulled her dress over her head and gotten a good look at the marks Crowley had left behind—scars that might never fully heal. He’d traced his fingers over her scars, growling low in the back of his throat and trying hard to keep from breaking into tears. He’d gotten himself under control long enough to rub soap into her body and work shampoo through her hair, but when she’d turned under the spray and he’d seen the scar along her left breast, something in him had snapped and he’d shoved her against the shower wall and attacked her mouth with his. It had been like the kiss in Crowley’s office—angry, wounded, and somewhat bloody. And Buffy had clung to him with need that scared her. She’d wrapped her legs around his waist and he’d slammed into her before taking off at a bruising rhythm that had added to the marks on her back. He’d fucked her like he was trying to beat a hole into the shower wall, grunting and growling and tearing at her lips with more of those angry kisses. He’d pounded into her at a pace that stole the strength from her legs and when he’d felt her tighten around his cock, he’d fucked her harder. The first orgasm he’d let her ride out, and the second one, too. By the time the fourth one had come around, she’d thought he might not be satisfied until he’d screwed them both to dust, and had started begging him to let go, that she could take it, whatever he gave her.

That had been when he’d sliced his fangs into her throat and she’d screamed herself hoarse.

Yeah, she’d felt Spike’s anger then. But not much in the time since, and that made her somewhat nervous. Like he was waiting for her to be off her guard to completely unleash.

As if sensing the thought—and hell, as her mate, he just might have—Spike offered a soft smile and shook his head.

“Still brassed with you,” he said. “Wager I will be yet for a spell. But Slayer, I got it out.”

“You did?”

“Mhmm. And if I get right twisted up about it again, figure I know what to do. That bit with you in the shower was brilliant, yeah?” He smirked when she blinked at him. “Can smell you getting hot, love. And you’re touchin’ the mark.”

Buffy swore slightly and dropped her hand to her side. “I was just… I brought up what happened and then my mind went bye-bye.”

“Love knowing I can still fuck your brains out, even after a year and some change, as you put it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were major with the pent up.” They both had been. “And pissed off.”

“Good news is I can channel that at any time.” Spike took the jar from her lips and raised it to his own. “You really kick Red to the curb?”

“Umm, yeah. And if she doesn’t take me seriously… Well, I dunno what. Might have to see what Rowena can do, though I don’t think they’re anywhere near the same level on the power scale. And Harry and the others were all with the forgiveness, so I doubt we’d get any help there.” Buffy pressed her lips together. “And I guess Sam or Dean could overrule me, though if Sam knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his big moose lips shut for the next forever after what he did to Dawn.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “What he—”

“They broke up. Or he broke up with her.” She grabbed him before he could tear out in search of a certain Winchester to snack on. “I already made with the threat,” she told him, though he was fuming so much he might not have heard her. “Told him if he hurt her again—”

“This _was _again, Slayer!” Spike snarled, slamming the jar onto the nightstand so hard the glass cracked. “That rot with the Bit’s knickers, remember that? I’ll tear him apart.”

Buffy placed herself between Spike and the door in a flash, shaking her head. “Dawn left,” she told him. “And Sam did, too. Ran into Faith on the way to the kitchen and she told me he took off. Dawn’s fine—she just needed a break from all of this.”

Spike didn’t look appeased. “I told him I was counting on him, to watch over her,” he snapped. “Fucking gave the big sod my bloody blessing, and this is what he does to her?”

“Spike—”

“No, I’m—”

“Spike.” Buffy threw herself at him with such force he had no choice but to follow, and seconds later they were tumbling back to the bed, and she had him thoroughly side-tracked. Spike fed his frustration and anger into her, only it didn’t last as it had before. By the time he had her naked and under him, the fury had drained away, leaving only the man behind.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmured against her lips as he slid inside her. He grinned when she whimpered, then grabbed her hands and pressed them to the mattress on either side of her head. “Happen to be good at it, but we’re not done talkin’.”

Buffy arched her hips, her eyes rolling back in her head as he began to pump. Yeah, she knew the conversation about Sam Winchester’s imminent demise by vampire was just on hold, and she knew she’d be able to talk him down, just as surely as he did. But for now, there was this, and damn, she’d never get enough of it. Especially after so long without it, without him, having lived months with nothing but the hope of when she’d see him again.

And god, she was so full of him. Inside her, over her, rasping breaths against her skin, staring into her eyes as he filled her with his cock again and again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stole a kiss off his lips, then mewled as his thrusts came harder, faster. The little sounds she loved tearing at his throat, his jaw clenching in that familiar way before he lowered his mouth to her ear and started coaxing her closer with his deep, rumbling voice.

“Gonna do it, Slayer?” he murmured. “Gonna come all over my cock?”

“Uh,” she replied, chasing him harder now, so that every time he pushed back inside her pussy, she greeted him with a squeeze of those _bloody fucking fantastic_—his words—slayer muscles of hers. And yeah, that got the response she wanted. Spike groaned and swirled his hips, and drove into her with new hunger, a spark of yellow lighting his eyes.

“Need me to touch you?” he growled, slipping a hand between them. “Need me to tease this clit?”

“Spike…”

He favored her with a grin and tapped her clit as he pulled back his cock. “That’s it, love,” he cooed, “tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

At one point in time, Buffy would have sworn that dirty talk did nothing for her. She’d either been wrong or a liar, then, or maybe it was something singular to Spike, because the words combined with his low growl and accented voice worked magic of their own. She gasped again and dragged him down for a hot kiss as that wonderful familiar pressure began to build in her belly, as he began to truly pound, his hand there to tease her clit every time he drove him. And that, combined with the litany of things that rumbled off his lips, had her climbing high enough to take flight.

Then he sank his fangs into her throat, and that was it. Buffy released a long gasp, tightened and spasmed around him, pussy clenching as he spilled inside her.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured at her ear. “Feel what you do to me, love.”

“Oh…I feel it.”

He pulled back to smirk at her before taking her mouth again. “Wanna feel it again? Know you’re good for it.”

“I was…supposed to be distracting you.”

“What can I say? It really worked.” He kissed her once more, then rolled over so he was on his back and she was tucked against him, her head resting at his chest. “Might not be such a bad idea for us, too,” he said, dragging her hair over her shoulder. “Takin’ off for a bit.”

Buffy frowned and looked up. “You want to leave this place?”

“Was never meant to be permanent, way I see it. We were doin’ Zangy a favor, keepin’ an eye on Bite Size.” He met her gaze and offered a soft smile. “But you’re partial to it. Don’t ever see us headin’ back to sunny California?”

In honesty, no. At least not for a while. Buffy frowned and rested her chin against his chest, considering. While he was right, and the move to Lebanon had been originally planned as a short one, she’d come to appreciate the area and the rather nomadic lifestyle they could assume whenever they wanted. Being here had opened her eyes to a whole new way to help save the world while seeing it at the same time. And while she didn’t mind the occasional trip into a big city, she found she liked the quiet all the better. The quiet and knowing she had a place that really felt like home.

“I like it here,” she said softly. “But if you don’t, then we’ll leave.”

“Slayer, I like it here just fine, too. Loads better now that the bar’s open. And I like the blokes—one more than the other, seein’ as I aim to rip the spleen out of one of ‘em.” He sighed and turned his gaze to the ceiling. “Not aimin’ to take off for good, but after this last year, wager you and me could use some time just for us. Maybe head back to New York for a bit, or travel across the pond. Wouldn’t mind goin’ back to Los Angeles, either, just for a few days so we can pack up whatever we left there, seein’ as we were ushered out in a hurry. Neither of us knew when we left we wouldn’t be headin’ back.”

That was true. Wright and Cordelia had held off on packing up their stuff, not knowing if the move was permanent or not.

“But we come back here,” she said.

“’Course.” He paused. “Seems likely, though, that Zack and Kel will stay out west. Least for the time being. Might be better that way, though. Let him get chummy with his brother, let them suss out who they wanna be apart from us, ’cause forever’s a long time.”

“And Angel?”

Spike went still.

“Come on,” Buffy said, pinching his nipple. “You know I’m not going to let this go. We still have a soul to return.”

“Yeah, and you just gave the boot to the only living witch who’s done it before.”

“Willow first did the restoration ritual when she was seventeen years old. I’m reasonably confident that Rowena can manage it.”

“And until we can access the bloody thing, there’s no point in tryin’. Might see if Red can take a gander before she heads off.”

Buffy snorted. “Yeah, that sounds fair. ‘Hey, Will, you know how I kicked you out? Well, can you look at this orb thing and see about removing the wards before you go? It’d be a big help.’” Though now that she thought about it, it did make sense to have Willow take a look…though it’d be better if the ask came from someone else. Buffy made a mental note to ask Faith about it when they saw each other next.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given her the boot like that. Especially if we’re about to leave.” Buffy wiggled. “And it’s not like the bunker is mine to kick people out of. I just… I walked in and I saw her and it took all of me to keep from outright attacking her for everything she’s put us through.”

“Don’t reckon many could blame you.”

“Well, we’ll see. Dean might not be too pleased.”

Spike snorted. “The boy’ll be chuffed. He’s partial to you. Slayers in general, I think.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Mean it, though. Seemed right cut up about it after you dove.”

“I think he’s always wanted a sister and I was his sister before he knew he had a sister.”

“Doesn’t hurt that the Watcher’s practically your old man and has been shagging his mum.”

“Not sure it _helps_,” Buffy replied dryly. “I’ll talk to both of them. Later. Maybe tomorrow. Right now…” She leaned over Spike to grab the jar of blood still on the nightstand, then cast herself astride her vampire’s hips and tipped the contents onto his oh-so lickable chest, down his abdomen, and over his swelling cock. “Right now…I have a mess to clean up.”

“Minx,” Spike growled, gripping her hips.

“You love it.”

“Love you.”

“Mhmm…” She lowered her head and dragged her tongue over his flesh. “Shh now. My mouth’s about to be very busy.”

He had a retort, she was sure, ready there on his smirking lips. But then she sucked his cock into her mouth, and whatever he’d wanted to say rode off on a gasp.

*~*~*

“Here, I think.”

Dean grinned, trying not to wiggle too much when Faith danced her fingertips over his inner wrist. The touch was somewhere between sensuous and ticklish, and he didn’t want her getting any funny ideas. The girl could be merciless.

“There,” he said, watching as she swirled her finger over the patch of skin. “That’s where you want the kitty? Thought you might go somewhere a bit more private.”

“You mean like on your dick?” She snickered and turned to grin at him. They’d been talking quietly for the past hour or so, each telling the other they needed to get up at some point, get dressed and go find food, but Dean hadn’t been in a hurry to move and neither was she, it seemed. And there was definitely something to be said about just being in bed with her, feeling her naked skin against his, and talking about nothing and everything that mattered. It was calm and easy, like pretty much everything was with her.

“Won’t say I didn’t think about it,” Faith said. “And if you ever decided to step out on me, it’d be hella hard to explain that to any chick.”

“Sure I could come up with some story. Good on my feet like that.”

Faith threw him a death glare that had him giggling and tugging her close for a kiss. “Ain’t gonna lie,” he said, “gets me all hot when you get jealous. Especially of make-believe women in scenarios that ain’t happenin’ in this life or any other.”

“Is that so?”

“Kitty, pretty sure we established you got yourself a perma-ducky, and I ain’t ever quackin’ for anyone else.”

“Damn right you’re not,” she muttered, going back to inspecting his wrist. “Though now you got me rethinkin’. That Hello Kitty tramp stamp might just serve you right.”

“Considerin’ you’re the one who will have to look at the damn thing, I’m fine with that. Already know how much you love my ass.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

He beamed. “Nope. Really oughta been a tip-off to both of us when we first started up. Two people with asses as fine as us owe it to others to couple up. Keeps the power balance nice and even.”

Faith snickered, then went back to drawing patterns over the pulse point on his left wrist. “Right here,” she said. “So you _can _see it every day.”

“Hello Kitty?”

“Naw. Small and black like mine. ’Cause you’re right—I _will _have to look at it, and not sure I can do Hello Kitty for the rest of my life.”

The words were spoken casually enough that he might have believed she hadn’t meant them the way they’d come out, but when she went tense against him afterward, Dean grinned and dragged his free hand down her arm, his heart doing a funny little jig that had seemed impossible just days before.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“That okay with you?”

“Rest of my life sounds great.”

Faith stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Huh?”

He blinked at her, his brain backtracking. “You said something else, didn’t you?”

“I said we oughta sit down and hash things out with your sister and Wes at some point.”

Oh, right, of course she had. Dean felt his cheeks go warm and averted his gaze, clearing his throat. “Hash what out?” he asked, hoping she’d show mercy and drop it.

For a moment, though, he was sure she was going to give him hell. He could see the wheels behind her eyes turning, and when something there sparked, his chest lurched a bit. But either she’d decided to give him a break—which seemed unlikely—or she’d forgotten what she’d said, for she was clarifying the next second.

“If she’s gonna stay here, seems like we oughta talk, right? The four of us? ’Cause I don’t think Wes is going anywhere and she might take issue to you bein’ a surly ass around her boyfriend.” She swallowed. “Not to mention Sabrina ain’t exactly my number one fan, probably for similar reasons. She seemed to warm up to me when we were downstairs, but I’ve been wrong about shit before. If the guy was fool enough to tell her he loved me, even if he’s realized that was fuckin’ ridiculous, ain’t the kinda thing a girl walks off easily, I don’t think.”

The idea of sitting down with Sabrina and Wes to discuss living arrangements had his head starting to pound. Dean groaned and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. Though, given the way things were going around here—Sammy and his slip-up especially—it likely was best to get everything on the table now where his new sister was concerned. Because Faith was right. He was finding she often was.

“Sure,” he said at last. “We’ll talk to them both.”

“And you’ll be nice?”

“I’m always nice.”

Faith rolled her eyes at him and he grinned back, unrepentant.

“Thought you found my tongue especially nice. Need a reminder?” He sat up and lifted himself over her, waggling his eyebrows. “’Cause I don’t mind reminding you.”

She studied him for a moment before smirking. “Guess sometimes it pays to be a slow learner.”

“All the time,” Dean said, kissed her lips, then began working his mouth south. “Every fucking day.”


	99. Chapter 99

There were some definite advantages to living the bunker life in Kansas. The surplus of vehicles in the garage was one. The fact that the roads were far less crowded was another. Some days it simply felt like the Hyperion has been moved to the middle of nowhere. That was probably a reason why Rosalie was itching to escape. At least partially.

It hadn’t become common knowledge yet that she’d learned how to ride a motorcycle. She’d taken what she’d watched of her dad over the years and mixed it in with some trial and error. Sam hadn’t been excited and Nick had been downright whiney, but both had conceded in the end that the Slayer needed all the skills she could attain.

When she’d seen the car she and Nick regularly used was gone from the garage, she hopped the bike Sam claimed once belonged to Dorthy of Oz and headed to the bar. Truth was, she really thought Sam was screwing with her in the trivia department.

Letting herself in the front with the key Nick had given her the night the locks were installed, she wasn’t surprised to find him behind the bar counting the register. “Inventory is off again,” he announced in greeting as the radio played some of the music from their generation. Rosalie was glad for a break from the classic rock. “Figure that won’t change as long as your relatives are in town,” he drawled without looking up.

“You know, don’t you?” She plopped herself on a stool across from him. “I know you and Giles and my dad all have a secret gossip chain. Did he talk to _you_ before he left because he didn’t fucking say shit to me.”

With a sigh, Nick finished his count and looked up at her. “No, he didn’t. But every indication is that this is just a little mental reset. Dawn left as well and it appears they had a rough break.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a folded paper and handed it to her.

“Ugh,” she said when she finished. “This kinda takes the fire out of me yelling at you about not coming to me about Sam.”

“Oi!” Nick snapped. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood. You tend to kill the messenger, love.”

“Whatever,” she replied, not about to tell him about how she’d yelled at her dad when he’d told her Sam had decided to leave without notice. She looked at the paper. “So, you’re short a bartender.”

His shoulders sagged as he released a dejected sigh. “Rose, I’m running on empty and it hasn’t been a month. I knew it’d be hard, but this is unmanageable.”

“Well, shit kinda went sideways from the opening.”

“Yeah,” he said with a wisp of a smile. “Did we really ever get that all settled?”

Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure we can chalk it up to PMS drama, okay? I’m not worried about you and Faith hooking up anymore or that you two have secrets feels.”

“Good. Plus I think Dean might kill me if we did.”

“No,” she said, teasing. “He totally would. And I’d help.”

“I’d certainly hope so,” he replied with a smirk. “Would be offended if you didn’t.”

Feeling that was well and settled, she moved on. “Are you going to ask _Wes_?”

Any humor in him left and was replaced by a deep scowl. “I don’t think I can do it, Rose. After what he did—”

“I thought we agreed to accept that it worked out and be all Elsa about it.”

“I _can’t _just let it go. Has he even _tried _to apologize to you?”

“No,” she admitted bitterly. “But there _has _been a lot of crazy shit going on.” Really, other than Nick, _nobody_ had been giving a flip about her lately. Even her own watcher had flaked out without so much as a goodbye.

“Bollocks,” he responded. “I don’t bloody well know how Faith suddenly turned into such a chipper minx, but I can’t just forgive and forget. He lied to you and nearly got you killed.”

That was one of the things she loved the most about Nick Hunter—from the moment he’d entered her life, he’d always had her back. Even when he did stuff that pissed her off. “You’ve tricked me. With the Buffy thing.”

“To _keep _you from being killed!” he huffed.

“Just sayin’.” She saw the hurt and anger in his eyes and worked to diffuse it. “Can we just make a promise not to do that again? If anything, hasn’t the past few weeks been a giant cautionary tale about couples communicating?”

He gave her a long look before nodding. “You’re right, love. Next time a situation comes up, I promise not to go behind your back even if I’m trying to protect you.”

“That’s all a girl asks for,” she replied with a smile. “And maybe some sexy time.”

“_Right?_” Nick said with an emphatic wave of his arms. “Bloody hell, Rose, we are literally the youngest couple in the group.”

“We should be having twice as much sex as them.”

“Between the sodding bar and Sam’s bloody exercise schedule, where do we find the time?”

“I honestly think Giles is getting more action than us.”

“And that’s wrong…and disturbing.”

Rosalie gave him a wink. “Wanna take advantage of me now?”

“That is also wrong and disturbing, but I like it anyway,” he replied with a wink of his own.

“You know,” she said as she crawled up onto the bar to cross over. “We’re actually close in age compared to everyone else.”

“Vampires don’t count,” Nick told her as he kept her from hopping down by walking up between her thighs.

“They _do_, but look around—I’m guessing Faith and Dean have a good seven years. Same with Sam and Dawn. Totally on Wes and Sabrina and…well, Mary’s kinda a mystery with the thirty years in Heaven. What age do you call her?”

“I don’t really care,” Nick muttered as his hands began rubbing her legs as they grew closer to her quickly warming apex.

“My dad and mom def got more than seven between them.”

Nick flashed her a warning look. “If you want sex on the bar counter, let’s start by stopping mentioning your parents.”

“Deal.” She wiggled when he finally palmed her pussy. With a moan, she arched her hips to grind against him. “How long do we have?” Rosalie gasped.

“Not long enough,” Nick grumbled as he began tugging on her leggings.

She’d never felt sexier than she did when she spread her legs and thrust her bare pussy off the edge of the bar. In a big, open room she’d never felt more exposed. Lowering her eyes, she watched the way Nick drank her in with his gaze. “Touch me,” she pleaded in a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate and when she felt his lips around her clit she released a guttural cry and grasped his head with both hands to hold him against her. She watched intently as he sucked on her, but threw her head back as she felt him slip a finger inside her. “_That_,” she requested.

His chuckle vibrated against her sex and shockwaves spread through her. Rosalie wasn’t sure if it was the lack of recent activity or the excitement of a new location and position, but she felt an orgasm coming up fast. “Nick,” she said as her nails dug into her scalp. “More, more, _more_.”

When he slipped a second finger inside her wet passage, she felt her muscles clamp down and gasped. He thrust maybe three times before she came with a loud throaty cry she’d always worked to contain at home. Alone with him, she let herself go completely.

And then he was gone and she was left trembling as her body shuddered with the aftershocks. Her eyes were closed so she didn’t notice how he’d kicked a crate over and stood upon it—nor had she noticed he’d unfastened his pants. It wasn’t until she felt him slip his cock inside her did her eyes fly open and she gaped at him as he slammed all the way to his hilt. “_Fuck!” _

“_Rose,” _he gasped as her muscles clenched him tight. He groaned, but began thrusting in and out of her at a feverish pace.

It wasn’t long, but long enough she got another hard climax in before he shuddered and spilled himself inside her. And it was fucking awesome.

They’d barely begun to fully regain their breath when it hit her—apparently, her Slayer senses were heightened along with the rest of her body. Without thought she shoved Nick back, causing him to tumble and fall off the crate. Then she hopped down just as the front door opened.

“Excellent,” Wright said as he strolled in with Zack and Kelly in tow. “If you really want me up doing karaoke tonight, we better start now on loosening me up.” He flashed Rosalie a smile. “This guy is baiting me, but he agreed to pay the tab so I’m willing to let him try.”

Rosalie stood motionless and mortified. She was naked from the waist down and had no idea where her pants were. “Cool,” she said awkwardly.

“Uhh…” Kelly said with a vampire’s version of a blush on her face. “Maybe we should wait until they open.”

_Oh my god_. Rosalie realized that Zack and Kelly could _smell_ the sex on them. She tossed a desperate look to her aunt and uncle to keep quiet.

“Where’s Nicky?” Wright said. “Or should we just grab our own drinks?” he said as he started to make way around the counter.

“_No!_” Everyone including Nick shouted in unison. Wright stopped and arched a brow.

“Was just doing inventory,” Nick grunted as he pulled himself to his feet. Rosalie bit her cheek as she watched him stand there with his jeans around his ankles.

“_Inventory,_” Zack said with air quotes.

“_Inventory_,” Rosalie hissed at him. She gave him a dangerous look to warn she would kill him if he said anything more.

Somehow her dad didn’t notice the innuendo. “Well, _inventory _us some good stuff. Like I said, Morris is paying tonight.”

Nick bent down and grabbed a random bottle with one hand and his pants with the other. “Here,” he said hastily as he worked to dress himself.

Wright arched a brow. “You serve bitters straight?”

Zack was barely containing his laughter now. Kelly didn’t look much better. “Here,” Rosalie said diving down and searching for her clothes. Her panties were actually in the doorway to the back she noted with horror, but she could crawl and fetch her pants unseen. Then she grabbed another bottle and popped back up and placed it on the bar. “That’ll help.”

“A bottle of wine and bitters?” Wright wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Somebody needs to teach you kids how to bartend.” And in a flash, he was off his stool. “Lemme show you guys a drink or two.”

“That’s quite all right,” Nick said frantically, rushing forward to cut him off, though his pants were still unzipped.

Rosalie was trapped—no direction she moved would keep her from exposing herself. Blanketing her crotch, she closed her eyes and prayed Nick could stop him.

“_Holy fuck!_” She opened her eyes to find him staring up at her with an almost comical look of fright—she might have laughed if she didn’t feel the exact same. He kept his eyes and chin tilted upward. “I didn’t just see that, did I?”

“No?” she nearly whimpered.

“I’m turning around now,” he said in a strained voice. His eyes flashed with anger as they turned to Nick. “How could you let me not see what I didn’t just see?”

“Man, I said _inventory_,” Zack said as he erupted in giggles as he air-quoted with his hands once more.

“And you let me say _inventory_ about _inventory,” _Wright growled as he too gestured with his fingers. “Fucker.”

“Should we go?” Kelly asked.

“Yes!” Rosalie and her father said as Zack and Nick said the opposite.

Nick shrugged when both Wrights tossed him a bewildered look. “I seriously can’t turn down paying customers. I think I’d serve Hitler if he stopped in for a pint.”

Wright snatched the bottle of wine from the counter and stormed off. “Then get your card out, Morris. This is gonna be a _long_ night.”

*~*~*

“Done,” Faith said as she sent her text. Looking up, she caught Dean finishing his own.

“Library, right?”

“Yup,” she answered. “Should we give them a couple minutes?”

“Yes,” he said with a crooked grin. “Because I was a little mean and told her to come alone and not tell Wes.”

God, she loved him. It was still pretty surreal to comprehend the notion. “I might have told Wes the same exact thing,” she replied with a mischievous smile.

“Which one of us is the evil twin?” Dean teased as he grabbed her and tugged her against his chest.

“I call dibs,” she said before giving in to another of his mind-blowing kisses. Running her fingers through his shaggy mane helped remind her it wasn’t all a dream. “You need a haircut,” she muttered against his lips. “You ain’t my hot little soldier boy.”

She saw felt eyebrow arch against her forehead. “Figured you liked more hair to grasp when you’re steering my face.”

“Good point,” she said before planting one last chaste smack on his lips and stepping back. “I’ll consider my options.”

They left their room hand-in-hand but dropped contact after the first corner. They hadn’t had an explicit conversation on PDA but had both taken up a routine against it. It was kinda funny since neither one seemed too concerned about verbally reminding everyone of all the sex they’d been having, but something about kisses and hand holding in public made her squirm. Maybe it was the intimacy factor—Faith didn’t feel like sharing her Kitty side with anyone but her Ducky. She also didn’t feel she had to mark her territory—Dean’s hazel eyes weren’t looking anywhere but at her.

She wondered if he felt the same or if it was some macho complex about showing emotion. Since she’d watched the way he and Sammy expressed their love, it was a tossup. Didn’t really bother her either way. They had looks, code and high-fives to get them by and she liked it that way.

“Shhh,” Dean said softly as they entered the Map Room, as she’d named it. There were voices coming from the library.

“You need to go,” Wes said in a panicky voice.

“You do!” Sabrina hissed at him. “Like now.”

“You don’t understand, Sabrina. If—”

“If you don’t, trust me when I say you won’t like it.”

Faith nudged Dean lightly. “We are wicked.”

“I know!” he replied in a giddy whisper. “Should we help them or let it go on a few?”

Sabrina seemed to be showing that the Winchester temper was a genetic defect. “If you don’t leave now, Wesley, I’m going to take this wand and—”

“Okay,” Faith said stepping in from the shadows.

“Dammit,” Dean pouted as he followed her in. “I was really wanting to know what she was gonna do with that wand.”

Wes and Sabrina exchanged a flabbergasted look before glancing to Faith and Dean. Then, slumping their shoulders they reconnected eyes and nodded. “We were fucked with,” Sabrina said with a groan.

“Quite easily,” Wes muttered in annoyance.

“I’d say sorry, but I’m not,” Faith said as she strolled over to one of the dark wooded tables.

“Ditto.” Dean shrugged and walked over next to her. “Consider it part of the hazing process.” He pulled out two chairs and sat in one.

Nonchalant gestures like that really turned her on. When she lowered herself into the seat next to him, she made a point to brush her fingers against his thigh. She loved the way he shifted just enough to let her know he felt it but didn’t look her way otherwise.

Wes and Sabrina took the hint and sat down across from them. “Hermione already agreed to let me keep the tent,” the witch said to start. “It’s not a big deal if it’s time to go.” She released a nervous giggle. “It’s pretty cool if you guys wanna check it out—which might sound weird, but isn’t. It’s a lot like a TARDIS actually—which Sam totally got, but I’m not sure either of you watch _Doctor Who_. But Sam totally got it so maybe you guys—”

Faith had to bite her lip to keep from smiling when Wes leaned over and placed a hand on Sabrina’s shaking fist on the table. “She rambles when nervous,” he explained quietly.

“Oh my god,” Faith said with a dramatic eye roll. “So does he. It’s like verbal diarrhea or something.”

“Hey!” Dean and Sabrina barked in unison.

“Winchesters,” Faith said with a slow shake of her head. She tossed a quick glance over to see Ducky giving her a glare. The accompanying pout just made him adorable and she fought hard to keep from giving him more than a smirk.

“Anyway,” Dean said heatedly. “Back to the important stuff.” He then gave a soft look to Sabrina. “I’m not a dweeb. I have no clue about Doctor Who because I made a point to always change the channel. If it’s anything cool—action, horror, cowboy, comedy—I’m your man. Sammy’s the dweeb that likes foreign stuff.”

“It’s British,” Wes countered.

Dean nodded. “Foreign. I hate subtitles.”

“We speak English,” Wes retorted dryly.

“I…I don’t always catch the accents,” Dean said in rush before waving his hands in the air. “Whatever. Back to the housing situation.”

“Winchesters,” Faith said, unable to keep from messing with him. She almost chuckled when he punched her thigh under the table—he’d have to hit harder than that if he wanted her to back off.

“Faith and I talked,” Dean continued. “And we both are cool if you two wanna hang here for the next whenever.” He turned his gaze to Sabrina. “This whole sibling situation has been pretty fucked up from the start.” He paused. “Granted, there wasn’t really a way it wouldn’t be. We’re a group of grown-ass adults learning that our dad had a daughter he never knew about.” He gave her a long look. “And believe me, I know our dad would have been there for you if he’d known, Sabrina. Even if he hadn’t told me or Sammy he would have been there.” He released a laugh filled with nervousness and a bitterness Faith recognized. “He’d probably have been a better father to you—no hunting, no moving around and never having a home or stability or education and shit. Did you know he took Adam to baseball games?” He shook his head emphatically. “Baseball!” he added in a much higher-pitched tone.

“Rambling,” Faith sang as she cut him off from revealing any more of his daddy issues. He’d have plenty of therapy time with his sister when he was a little less rattled. Dean took the hint and stilled. “So, what D was completely not saying is that we know you two are homeless and we got a better setup than a fancy tent. Plus, Dean and Sam would really like Sabrina here so they can bond because family is literally the most important thing to them.”

“That was exactly what I completely said,” Dean huffed.

Faith gave him a sad look. “No,” she said slowly.

“Whatever,” he scoffed. Like a man-bitch, he then muttered, “Yes,” under his breath.

“Are you sure about me?” Wes said wisely ignoring the sidebar. “I haven’t exactly done much to repent for my actions. Honestly, I’ve not even spoken to Rosalie.”

Faith held up a hand. “You can work on that. D and I decided to leave the water under the bridge—ain’t no reason to drown over shit that all worked out for the best. There might be some tension, but it’s not like LA is an option for either of you.”

“The Hyperion—”

Faith cut Wes off. “Ain’t a safe space no more—not for you. Now that Wright knows you remember what happened, he’s gonna kill you.” She ignored his wounded eyes and pressed on. “And not in the figurative. I’m talking the kind where he shoots you with his crossbow the moment he’s got a clear pass. He literally killed the last guy who made a deal with the lawyer dicks that messed with his kids—his fucking father. Dude killed his dad so you know he’s gunnin’ for your ass.”

“Points to Lehane for harshness and clarity,” Dean teased after a moment of silence. “Afraid we will have a slight deduction for tact and subtlety.”

“Point is, I’m right.” She turned to Dean. “I’ll explain what that feels like later with small words.”

“Only kind you know how to spell,” he quipped back.

She caught a flash across his eyes and knew she was in trouble. Ducky was getting horny off the banter. Her clit twinged and she looked away. Maybe he was the evil twin after all. “Questions?” she said to Wes and Sabrina as she leaned forward and squeezed her thighs tight.

The couple looked to each other and did the whole eye conversation routine. Faith sighed, knowing she and Ducky could have done it with one eyebrow arch. “Okay,” Sabrina said after a few moments with a breathless smile.

“Awesome,” Dean replied and slapped his palms down on the wood with a smack. Then he surprised her by stretching his arm out toward Wes and raising it for a shake. “You and I got off on the world’s worst start, and I know I’m mostly to blame for it. Let’s try again—Dean Winchester.”

Faith’s heart skipped as Ducky took her breath away—she literally had to keep from clutching her chest. Dean was a lot of things—obnoxious, crude, immature, aloof—but he was a good man underneath it all. A good man she really wanted to do bad things to.

“Wesley Wyndham Pryce,” Wes replied returning the shake.

“Wes,” Dean snapped as he pulled his hand back. “Never gonna remember a double name.”

“I can make you a subtitle,” Wes shot back.

“This is gonna be fun,” Faith snickered as she tossed a wink to Sabrina. Then she sobered. “And I know you and I haven’t been bosom buddies.” She paused. “Well, I ain’t got a bosom buddy.”

“I’ll buddy your bosoms,” Dean joked. Faith smacked him under the table hard enough to make him flinch.

“But I’d like us to be buddies,” Faith added. “If it ain’t too weird that I kinda boinked your boyfriend and you can’t get me back since I’m boinking your brother.”

Sabrina cracked up at that. “I’m good.”

Faith sighed with relief. “Excellent. Meeting adjourned.”

Wes and Sabrina couldn’t escape fast enough after that—making hastily worded excuses about in packing the tent to give back to Hermione. Faith assumed they just felt like getting away while things were still going good—no need to jinx it with more awkward conversation.

Faith looked down at the table and caught sight on a carving in the wood finish. She traced the cuts with her finger. “D.W. and S.W. and M.W.” Faith looked up to her boyfriend. “Do I get to add my initials now that I’m on the lease?”

Dean looked at the carvings with a small smile. “Afraid not. This table’s exclusive Winchester property—gotta have the name.”

“Ducky,” she whispered. “Your sis ain’t got the name.”

He frowned and shot her a worried look. “Well…we will council and vote on it.”

“The Winchester Council?” She laughed. “God, can you be a bigger douche about the family pride?”

“There goes your mention in the family newsletter,” he teased back.

“Lamest newsletter ever.” God, she loved this.

“If it makes you feel better I’ll let you carve your initials into my belt.”

Dean didn’t hide his horniness this time. Instead of firing back, Faith broke and stood. She felt him keeping pace as they marched wordlessly back to their bedroom. At least her ducky was a learner.


	100. Chapter 100

Sam’s first thought had been to go talk to Buffy—make that _scream _at Buffy—for having the audacity to order Willow to do anything, much less kick her out of a place that, to his understanding, wasn’t even hers to kick people out of. But Willow, sobbing as she’d been, had told him to leave well enough alone where Buffy was concerned. That the woman had her reasons for doing those things, saying those things, and they were very good reasons indeed.

“You sacrificed yourself to the _devil_,” Sam had argued. “That wipes everything clean. _The devil_, Willow. Does she know what that means?”

“I still stood by while the devil set her mate on fire,” Willow had replied. “Is that something you could forgive? If someone, someone who had the power to stop it, just watched as someone set _me _on fire? Or Oz?”

Sam had so badly wanted to say _yes_ that he’d actually shaken with it. But he’d known there was no point. He’d lived it, after all—not what Willow had done recently, but the things that had come before. And while the thing he’d walked away with, that it was her capacity to love and care more than rip and destroy that defined her, he still believed, there was no denying her actions had caused harm.

Still, she’d sealed herself up with the devil. Been prepared to stay there forever just to keep him prisoner. That had to mean something.

“It means you can come home,” Hermione said later, as they were gathered in the library, discussing what came next. “I sent an owl to the Ministry the second we knew you were back, detailing the things you’ve done to secure the continued safety of, well, all of us.”

“She mighta left out the whole _opening of the Hellmouth _bit,” Ron said with a grin.

Hermione went a little pink. “Well, it wasn’t relevant. The Hellmouth is contained and everyone associated with its opening is either safe or imprisoned.”

“Or was daft enough to believe we were the bad guys,” Ginny added. Most unhelpfully, in Sam’s opinion.

Harry threw his wife a look of mingled irritation and amusement—one that became pure amusement when she shrugged and flashed him a rude gesture.

“All that besides,” Hermione went on in her dignified, Hermione-way, “you can come home. Resume teaching next term. And with a new daring story to add to your magical resume. The students will be thrilled.”

The look that overwhelmed Willow at this was so pure and radiant that the claws of worry began twisting Sam’s gut again. Selfishly, most selfishly, he’d wanted England to remain off-limits to her for perhaps forever, force her to stay here with him, where she belonged. Because even with the message she’d left him, and the things they’d said to each other since she’d returned, he couldn’t help but think that he was her last resort. That where she truly wanted to go was the home she’d known for the last ten years, among the people who were the only ones he knew of who would stand with her no matter how many hellmouths she accidentally opened. Those people who had essentially abandoned their own families for months at a time to not only save Willow but forge her path back to the place she’d considered home.

Willow pressed her lips together and met his eyes, and something within him softened.

“Home is California,” she said, dropping her gaze to their son, who was cradled in her arms. “It’s with Sam and Oz.”

Harry grinned. It was a genuine grin, but a sad one as well. “Came around, did you?”

“It took me long enough.” Willow blinked, and new tears trekked down her cheeks. Tears untied to Buffy or Lucifer or whatever her former friend might have told her. “I know this is…not why you stayed. And I’m sorry. A part of me will always be at Hogwarts, but…I need to stay here.”

Hermione smiled. “We stayed because we love you and we want what you want,” she said. “The Ministry has extended its protection to you once more, no matter where you live, you’re one of us. I made sure to ask that, as I thought—_we _thought—this might be the outcome.”

Sam’s heart leaped. “What does that mean?”

“It means that MACUSA has withdrawn its warrant for Willow’s apprehension, and she may live in the open again,” Hermione said. “I do believe, in this case, their association with Wolfram and Hart might have worked in our favor. Lucifer was a senior partner, see, but an erratic one. One they much prefer locked up, as he has been for the bulk of time. That you made that happen has…well, I imagine they are thinking of other ways to utilize your power. And that is something you will need to keep in mind, staying here, especially in such proximity to Wolfram and Hart. You are valuable to them—an asset, as much as Sam is. They will do whatever they can to seduce you to them. You both will be constantly watched.”

This much wasn’t terribly surprising, but he did feel his stomach twist all the same. “We will also need to work with my public relations advisors. And Josh.” He winced. “No telling how Josh will accept that you’re back, and though I love the guy like a brother, I will fire his ass tomorrow if that’s what you want.”

Willow offered a watery smile. “I never expected it to be easy, being with you. I was ready to face down MACUSA and the American press if need be. Hell, after facing the devil, maybe it _will _be easy. All I know is I want you. Us.” She glanced at Harry. “And I want to visit my friends in England as much as we can. Because they are the only friends I have left.”

“We’re more than friends, Willow,” Harry replied. “Like we’ve said, we’re family. And family doesn’t let pesky things like distance stand in our way. Besides…” He glanced at Ginny, who grinned and nodded. “James has been at us to let him tour the States for years. Maybe over the summer holidays, we can plan to come here.”

“Us too,” Ron added. “Would be brilliant learning for Rose and Hugo.”

“Did you just use our children’s education as a means to justify a vacation?” Hermione asked.

“Depends on whether or not it worked.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and that was answer enough.

Willow turned to Harry. “When will you leave?”

“Tonight,” he said. “We’re going by the cantina to say our goodbyes. Then we’ll take a Portkey back to Los Angeles—us, Zack and Kelly, if they like. We would take Wright, too, but someone needs to tend to the vehicle.”

“Bill and Fleur are going on their…oh, fourth or fifth honeymoon,” Hermione added. “They agreed to kick off their holiday by bringing the kids back. And they have together reinforced the shields around the Hyperion. Percy will remain in the States for the foreseeable future as well, should their lot have any need of him.”

“And Sabrina?” Willow asked. “I… I don’t know what all happened with her, but from what I have pieced together, she is wanted by MACUSA as well.”

“And she is American, which means the Ministry has no jurisdiction,” Hermione said. “Sabrina will need to remain in hiding.”

Willow let out a sigh. “I suppose there’s no point in pointing out I’m American, too.”

“You’re technically considered a British citizen, at least as far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned.” Hermione shrugged. “I wish I could help Sabrina, but beyond warding the bunker, there isn’t much we can do for now. And it is very likely that MACUSA knows exactly where she is, especially if they have discovered her file is missing.”

Willow nodded, though she looked troubled, and Sam knew immediately that the subject of Sabrina Deanne was not closed as far as she was concerned. It seemed likely, perhaps even inevitable, that Willow would ingratiate herself with MACUSA, at least insofar as was needed to play nice and see what could be done to help the witch. A witch that had started off planning to kill her, he mentally added, and here was Willow, not holding grudges unlike certain blonde holier-than-thou slayer-turned-vampires.

“We will leave tonight, too,” Willow decided, glancing again to their son. “That will be within the twenty-four hours I was given.”

“I still say we talk to Dean,” Sam said bitterly. “Buffy has no right—”

“It doesn’t matter. I was leaving anyway. There’s no point in fighting to stay here when California is where we belong.”

Sure, but it was the principle of the thing. With Sam it often was.

But perhaps it was better to take a page from her book now, and let the matter go. After all, from where he’d been just a day earlier, his life was almost perfect. He had his son and the woman he loved, and the threat they’d faced earlier from the magical government was—for now, at least—a nonissue. The only thing they had to worry about, truly worry about, was the twenty-four-hour news cycle. And perhaps how this would impact his presidential run, should it indeed not be too late to get in the race.

All things he would worry about tomorrow.

*~*~*

Dean walked into their room, glanced at her, then did a double-take and nearly tripped over himself. Which just happened to be the exact reaction she was going for. Faith offered a brilliant smile, patted her thigh just to make sure her blade was there—though she knew it was—and nodded at the door. “Ready to go?”

Dean ogled, looking at her up and down. There might have actually been a little pool of saliva at the corners of his mouth.

“Where… I thought it was ruined.”

Faith glanced down with a frown—a badly staged one, she knew, but one he’d respond to just the same. “Oh,” she said, fisting the material of the yellow sundress as though she’d tripped and fallen into it by mistake. “Hermione. Ain’t much to mend things if you have a wand. Or take out bloodstains.”

The look in Dean’s eyes now said she’d be lucky to keep wearing the sundress for another sixty seconds, which was also what she had been going for, though she wasn’t going to let him do any creative ripping. “And…you’re wearing that. Tonight.”

“Mainly to get the reaction I’m getting right now.” She planted a hand on her hip. “I can play the demure virgin later if you like. Wanna pop my cherry?”

Dean met her eyes, and the heat in them had her pressing her thighs together. Honestly, she’d never expected this sundress, something she’d purchased just because it made her look prim and proper, to have any sort of effect on Dean beyond maybe a good belly laugh. But she hadn’t missed the fact that he’d referenced it at least twice—the night she and Lucifer had their not-a-date and the night he’d surprised her in the fancy hotel. It only seemed fitting to give him the image again.

“We really need to go?” he asked hoarsely. “’Cause I can do all the drinkin’ I aim to do between your legs.”

Faith smirked and sashayed up to him. “Let’s go see everyone off. Then we can celebrate havin’ the place more or less cleared out by makin’ so much noise we put the vamps to shame.”

“Think we do that anyway.”

“Sayin’ you ain’t up for it?”

“Kitty, I’m _up _for quite a bit.”

She dropped her gaze to his crotch and her smirk widened. “So you are,” she purred and cupped him through his jeans. The noise he made went straight to her clit and tested her resolve like a sonofabitch, but they’d spent the past couple of days lounging in bed when they weren’t running around to bunker meetings, and he needed a change of scenery, even if he didn’t know it.

When she squeezed him, his eyes fell shut and he worked his throat like it was blocked by a boulder. “That’s it,” he said, and broke away from her to slam the door shut. “We’re doing this now.”

“Nuh uh, Ducky. Give this virgin a couple more hours at least. To get over her nerves.”

He barked a strained laugh. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Right now? Yeah, I kinda do. Which might be a problem if I didn’t love you so much. And the dress. And you playin’ a virgin. And what I’m gonna do to that virgin later tonight.” He released a long, shaky breath, then opened the door again. “There may be a belt involved.”

Faith fluttered her hands to her chest and took a step back. “But sir, I’ve never—”

“You better knock that off or you’re gonna have to beat me up to keep me from tossing you on the bed and fucking your brains out. And then neither one of us will have any fun tonight.”

She grinned and dropped her hands. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” She leaned forward and brushed a kiss across his lips. “And you love it.”

“Love you,” he growled.

“Love you too.” The words came easier every time she said them, though her chest still tightened a bit with nerves that would take a bit longer to kill.

“Better stop that too,” he murmured. “You know what those words do to me.”

“Why do you think I say them?”

“’Cause you mean them.” This he said with a bit of his own nerves, like he still couldn’t quite believe it himself.

Faith nipped at his lower lip, then moved into the hallway before he could make good on his threat. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

“All right.” He inhaled deeply as he fell to her side, palmed her ass and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You better perk on up, Ducky, ’cause I’m callin’ in a dare tonight.”

He glanced at her, a question in his eyes. Which only made sense. It had been longer for him than it had her since they’d issued those dares. But a moment later, he snickered and shook his head. “Crazy bitch is actually gonna make me do it.”

“Of course I am. And…” She dipped a hand between her breasts to produce her cell phone. Or rather, Buffy’s. She really needed to get one of her own. “Since I got so good at takin’ vids, I got the means to make sure Sammy doesn’t miss this.”

“I take it back. You don’t actually love me at all. It’s all a ploy to see what stupid shit you can get me to do.”

Faith snickered and put the phone back between her breasts, watching the way Dean’s eyes followed the movement. “You’re the idiot who said _dare _that night. And gave me the Brittney idea.”

“It’s not fair to take advantage of slow learners.”

“And here I thought you liked it when I take advantage of you.” She leaned closer, though there was no point, as the rest of the bunker was already at the damn bar. “_Sir_.”

Dean stopped short, threw his head back. “You’re so askin’ for a spanking.”

“Duh.”

“Two hours max. That’s the most I can promise without takin’ you back to christen Nick’s office.”

“Might be fun to do that anyway.”

“You _are _the evil twin.”

She didn’t bother to tell him she’d decided to award him that honorary title earlier today. Figured they’d be swapping it for the rest of their lives—and shit if that wasn’t a heady fucking thought.

“Don’t you forget it,” she said instead.

“Won’t,” Dean said, then tossed her a wink. “As long as you’re around to remind me every day.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Awesome,” he said as they arrived at the door. “Just one more thing.”

“What?”

Dean jerked her into his arms and took her mouth in a kiss. Not the quick-before-we-run-out-of-time kiss, but like the kisses that typically ended with her legs in the air. All teeth and tongue, push and pull, and ample tease to have her lighting up in all the right ways. When at last he pulled back, they were both panting, her back was pressed against the door, and his cock was nudging her through her dress.

He studied her eyes for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin. “Good.”

“What?” she asked, fighting to catch her breath.

“Didn’t seem fair bein’ more hot and bothered than you. Figured we needed to even this up a bit.” He winked again, nibbled on her throat, then backed up, opened the door, and gestured. “After you.”

It took a few seconds for her legs to obey the command. “Goddamn, you suck.”

“I will later tonight. Right after I teach a certain virgin the art of a good blowjob. Good thing you got strong knees, ’cause you might be down there a while.”

“Hmm. This virgin’s not a slow learner. Five bucks says I have you blowin’ in less than five.”

“That doesn’t sound very virginal to me.”

“Hot damn, you’re right.” She stepped out ahead of him before throwing him a look over her shoulder. “Sorry _sir_.”

Dean’s eyes darkened again and he clenched his jaw tight enough she could imagine she heard his teeth crack. “Fay, baby,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “you better run or this is as far as we go.”

She saw he was serious, so she took off, laughing all the way to the Impala. She stopped and laughed some more when he approached, patting his pockets. Her ducky wasn’t entirely a slow learner, though—at least not on all things—so after a moment, he met her gaze over the roof of the car and glowered.

“When I kissed you?”

She nodded and held up the keys. “Good thing you have me to watch your ass, Ducky. You’re way too easy a mark.”

“Think it’s more you’re the only one good enough to pick my pockets,” he grumbled. “Guess I oughta be glad you’re on my side.”

“For many reasons,” she agreed, sliding behind the wheel.

He huffed as he slid in beside her. “Baby, believe me, I know.”

*~*~*

If someone had told him that all it would do to reduce his mental faculties to mush was a pretty girl in a yellow sundress, Dean would never have believed it. Not that he was the spokesperson for self-control where the fairer sex went, but when push came to shove, he could focus. Something about Faith—and it was only Faith, he realized, because that dress wasn’t anything special—looking like a little ray of sunshine got him going in ways that might have worried him at any other point in his life.

As it was, he had a hard time concentrating on what Buffy was telling him.

“Dean!” Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Stop eye-humping your girlfriend. This is important.”

Faith tossed him a smirk that he was so going to pay her back for later. “Right, sorry,” he said, not sorry at all, shifted and looked at the blonde head-on. “Try that again.”

“The Slayer and I are headin’ out, is the long and short of it,” Spike said, draping an arm across the back of Buffy’s chair. “Need some time just to ourselves.”

This much was enough to penetrate the fog. Dean frowned and shot his gaze back to Buffy. “You’re leaving?”

Strange. Not too long ago, he would have said the abundance of people at the bunker was the bane of his existence. Sam volunteering the place without so much as a check-in still had him a bit sour, but damn, he’d gotten used to it. Gotten used to having people there who weren’t family, people he could count on. Hell, people he loved. And he didn’t like the thought of the bunker absent Buffy or her annoying mate, whom Dean actually liked quite a bit, all told.

“But…Rose?” he said. “Thought you were sticking around to protect her. Make sure my dumbass brother doesn’t fuck her up too bad. And Wolfram and Hart don’t come knockin’.”

“Pretty sure Faith can handle that just fine.”

Well, that kinda pissed him off. “So it’s all up to her now?”

Buffy barked a laugh. “We’re coming back, you doof,” she said. “Like Spike said, we need _some _time to ourselves. Not all of it. We might be gone for a few weeks, but don’t go renting our room out. Not about to change my mailing address.”

“Think the wanker might like us a bit,” Spike drawled, smirking.

“You I tolerate. Her I like.” But Dean felt how broadly he was grinning. “Little vacay sounds good to me too. Fuck knows we’ve earned it.” He glanced at Faith. “Whaddya say? Once Sammy gets back, you, me, maybe a beach somewhere, drinks and little to no clothing?”

“Ain’t gotta convince me. This bitch has never had a vacation.”

Never? Dean frowned, then wondered why he was surprised. Faith’s life had been like his in many ways—hard from the start. And hell, maybe he hadn’t had a vacation, either. Not a real one, excluding the whole siesta with Lisa, which hadn’t been a vacation so much as early retirement that hadn’t stuck. There’d been the odd time when he and Sam had taken a break from hunting, spent a few fun days between jobs doing this, that, or the other. But an actual, mindful vacation? Going somewhere with someone he loved just to spend time with them? No, he didn’t think he’d done that. Granted, he hadn’t had anyone he loved in his life like this before, but still.

“Also, there’s something you need to know,” Buffy said, jarring him back to the present. “Which will just go to show just how much I consider the bunker home now. I, uhh, kinda kicked Willow out.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “No kidding?”

“Yeah. I saw her with Harry and the others and it… Well, it all kinda went kablooey in my head.” Buffy released a long sigh. “Everything she did. Not just with Lucifer recently, but all of it. When she went bad in England and tried to end the world by hurting Dawn. When she took our memories of that—of Tara, who we all loved—and just…rewrote our history to be something that it wasn’t. Wolfram and Hart got the blueprints for the spell they did on us from her, and because of that, they pitted me and Spike against each other. Or me against him.”

“Always been a sucker for this one,” Spike affirmed with a nod.

“And they gave us memories of really awful things that we did to each other that _never happened_. If it hadn’t been for the claim…” Buffy shook her head, releasing a deep breath. “Wolfram and Hart’s spell was broken when we found Wright again, but Willow’s wasn’t. And when she broke it…and I remembered everything… It wasn’t just knowing what had happened, it was reliving it. Add in the fact that I can thank her for my trip down south _plus _she stood aside when Lucifer lit Spike on fire, _twice_, and I’m sorry, but one grand gesture to save us from the mess she created wasn’t enough for me. So I told her to pack up and leave.”

“Damn, B,” Faith intoned from beside him.

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about this—or Willow, to be honest. There was a world of bad that she’d done, he knew, but that was true about him too. Faith as well. Maybe not Buffy, but definitely Spike. At one point in his life, he might have cut ties without a backward glance, but time and experience had taught him that enemies could be friends in the right circumstances. And Willow had come down to get him out of Hell, offered herself to Lucifer in Faith’s place, was part of the reason he was sitting right here at all.

But then he thought about the day the Hellmouth had opened, and how easily it could have been Faith who made that dive. How she, unlike Buffy, would have been torn apart in the fall. And how Buffy, as a result of what had happened, had suffered for more than a year as that double-crossing sonofabitch Crowley had tried to rip out her soul. All things that wouldn’t have happened without Willow.

If Faith had taken the dive, if she’d died over Willow’s idiocy, Dean would have blown the witch’s brains out.

“I got it,” he said, nodding. “And I’ll back you up on that if she pitches a fit.”

“I don’t think she will,” Faith said, and he saw she was looking across the bar to where Willow was surrounded by the Hogwarts gang and hanging on the governor’s arm. “Looks like they’re all saying goodbye.”

“Faith,” Buffy said, leaning forward, “you might talk to her, before she leaves, about the orb with Angel’s soul. See if she can crack it. I’d ask, but… Well, I didn’t think about that until after I made the ultimatum.”

“So you’re skippin’ town and giving me an errand? What happens with Angel’s soul, anyway, you bein’ gone?”

“If we can access it, you call me. Which reminds me…” She held out her hand. “Phone?”

Dean watched, not bothering to hide his amusement, as Faith groused and pulled her phone from between her breasts. “Just make sure you video it when D gets up on the stage here in a sec,” Faith said.

Buffy arched an eyebrow. “What are you gonna do?”

“Humiliate myself,” Dean replied, but winked at Faith to show he was fine with it. Which he was. When it came to most of the people—and things—in here, he could kick their asses. And he was definitely getting laid tonight, and every night for the foreseeable future, by the woman who was making him do this stupid thing. And hell, knowing her, it’d just get her hotter.

“We access that soul, do we go to Big Red and ask for a favor?” Faith asked, turning her attention back to Buffy.

“I’m fairly confident Rowena can handle it just fine. Willow was a junior in high school when she first performed it. Pretty sure it’ll be easy peasy to anyone else.”

That seemed like a fair bet. Dean threw back a hearty mouthful of beer, then turned to Faith. “Gonna go get this over with. Any special requests or will any song do?”

“Surprise me,” she replied. “If you don’t hit the right one, I’ll make a request the next time you’re dumb enough to say _dare_.”

He smirked and popped to his feet. “Knowin’ me, that’ll be sometime tomorrow.” He glanced at Buffy and explained, “I don’t learn so good,” before raising his hand for a high-five that Faith delivered without missing a beat.

The night when Faith had made good on the dare was a bit hazy, just because so much had happened then. All he really remembered was her shaking her fine ass on stage before the devil had interrupted, then following her back to Nick’s office and nearly fucking her on the broken desk before they’d been interrupted.

There was no way he’d be able to move like his kitty, but he could definitely give her a good show. Her and the rest of the place.

And when the first chords to “Hit Me Baby One More Time” pealed through the cantina and he went into motion, he knew he’d made the right choice. Faith busted up laughing, and for her—well, fuck—he’d do just about anything to keep her laughing like that.

He broke into a series of awkward-as-fuck dance moves, doing his best to imitate the way he remembered Fay moving that night. The crowd—comprised of demons, vampires, the whole freakin’ Harry Potter cast, Willow, the Governor of California, Wright, Nick, Rosalie, and the Morrises—started cackling and clapping so hard it was difficult to tell the two apart. But no one laughed harder or made more noise than his kitty. She was standing on the table he’d left, cheering loudly and moving her body to the music along with him in ways he figured she didn’t even realize.

In that damn yellow sundress.

It was through sheer force of will that he managed to get to the end. But when he did, he pulled out all the stops. Exaggerated hip swirls, somewhat painful chick poses, arms flying in all directions—he might have rubbed his own nipple at one point, it got a bit foggy. But he carried the song, by god, and did so like a motherfucking champ.

_“I must confess that my loneliness is killing me now,”_ he belted out. _“Don't you know I still believe? That you will be here and give me a sign. Hit me baby one more time!”_

He ended with a mic-drop and struck a pose, and the place went berserk. He beamed and gave an exaggerated bow, feeling oddly accomplished, all told. But when he scoured the bar for a flash of that yellow, he didn’t see it, and his stomach dropped. The praise was all well and good when coming from strangers, but he wanted to see just how much Fay had enjoyed the show. Preferably enough that she’d suggest they cut and run home, two hours be damned.

Then he felt her breath hot on his neck.

“You might be the only man alive who can move like that and get me hot.”

Dean grinned and turned to face her. Somehow, she’d managed to get behind him on the stage. “What can I say, babe? It’s a gift.”

“Uh huh. Now let me repay you in kind.”

What?

Before he could say anything, however, she’d given him a hard enough shove that he toppled off the stage, and new music blasted through the speakers. Music that had Nick doubled-over laughing the second it touched the air. It sounded familiar enough that he knew he knew the song and would feel like a grade-A moron when he realized what it was, but even still, it wasn’t until the sexy bitch tipped over to collect the mic from the ground—giving him a fantastic peek at her tits—and started to sing that the light-bulb clicked on.

_“I made it through the wilderness,”_ she sang, and grinned when he started laughing. _“Somehow I made it through. Didn't know how lost I was until I found you. I was beat, incomplete, I'd been had. I was sad and blue, but you made me feel. Yeah, you made me feel shiny and new…”_

“Oh baby,” he muttered, then cupped his mouth and yelled, “You are _so _gonna get it!”

Faith just winked and went on. _“Like a virgin. Touched for the very first time! Like a vir-ir-ir-gin. When your heart beats next to mine.”_

Then she did some fancy-fancy move, dragging her hand down the contours of her smokin’ body in _that dress_ and he hoped Nick hadn’t replaced his desk just yet, because odds were good they were going to break the fuck out of it as soon as she was done.

_“Gonna give you all my love, boy,”_ she continued, moving her hips in a seductive, sultry swing. _“My fear is fading fast. Been saving it all for you, 'cause only love can last. You're so fine and you're mine.”_ This she sang with a wink. _“Make me strong, yeah, you make me bold. Oh, your love thawed out… Yeah, your love thawed out what was scared and cold!”_

The fact that the song was, to hear her tell it, a bit accurate had parts of him that weren’t his dick stirring. He shoved that aside and focused on the dick-moving stuff.

_“Like a virgin—hey! Touched for the very first time! Like a vir-ir-ir-gin. When your heart beats next to mine.”_

The damn song went on forever. It was a slow torture, in that way, but he ate it up. Every roll of her hips, every dramatic toss of her head, every sensuous curve of her lips, until she was done—on her knees, the fabric of the dress pooled between her spread legs, showing off more skin, almost, than she had the night she’d gussied up for the devil.

The second she hopped off-stage, Dean seized her against him and threw her over his shoulder. “Say goodbye, Kitty,” he said as he hurried for the door. “Two hours are up.”

He hoped to fuck she didn’t object and relaxed when he heard her laugh.

“Gonna go get popped, ladies and gents!” she yelled to the still-cheering bar.

“You bet your sweet, spankable ass, you are,” he yelled back. No one had ever applauded him getting laid, so he didn’t know what to think about the roar from the crowd. Then he decided he didn’t give a fuck. If they knew just how lucky he was, they’d do more than cheer. They’d throw him a parade.

Because that sweet, spankable ass was all his.


	101. Chapter 101

_Five Days Later_

“Hell no!” Dean barked.

“Come on!” Rosalie said, fluttering the orange Hawaiian shirt between them. “I ordered it from Amazon and paid for express shipping. You owe me a picture.”

He yanked the fabric from her hands and begrudgingly stuffed it into his duffle. “I’ll take the picture, but won’t show you until I need a favor.”

“I said _express _shipping. That shit costs about as much as the shirt.”

“I know. Glad you didn’t get the blue one.”

“Shut up!” she cackled.

God, he was so fucking stoked to be taking a vacation, and he was going to milk it for every drop. Knowing the life, this might Faith’s and his only chance—they were gonna have the full shebang. He tossed the little Slayer a grin. “Okay.”

“You better gimme all the deets when you get back—we both know Faith won’t spill her own gossip.”

“And I will?” He snickered as he zipped the bag and tossed it over his shoulder. Most of the contents were brand new—flip flops, swim trunks, shorts and beach-appropriate shirts. He was going full fucking tourist on this beach down by the border.

“You already told me all about the resort and half a dozen things you wanna do—jet skis, that sunset cruise, the day trip where you two sneak across the border so you can sneak back as illegal aliens—”

“Fine,” he huffed. “Point made. _I’m _the gossip.”

Rosalie leaned over and kissed his cheek. They shared a smile before her forehead crinkled with a frown. “You sure Sam’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he said without a beat. Truthfully, he was a little uncertain since he’d arrived back last night, but he and Faith had told everyone they were peeling out once he was back. He worried that changing the plan might signal that Sammy was dealing with more than a nasty breakup. “If Dawn comes back or there’s an apocalypse, text me. If I don’t answer, I’m having sex or in a derailment facility—either way, I’ll text ya when I’m done.” He ended with a wink of reassurance.

“Yeah,” Rosalie said as she followed him out the room. “You and Faith are the only two people I know that think federal custody sounds like good entertainment.”

“What can I say? I’m a cheap date.”

Something about hitting the hallway made him hesitate with nerves. Sammy was in a hard spot and maybe taking a couple weeks off wasn’t the best idea. Sure, Giles and Mom could run the ship with training Rosalie without them. Sabrina was working on the soul orb with Cass and Rowena while Nick was begrudgingly letting Wes tend the bar until Dawn or a replacement could be found. Sam could take all the time he needed to get into the new swing of things.

Dean stopped walking. “Do me a favor?” He tossed his bag, knowing she’d instinctively catch it. “Run that to Baby, will ya? Think I left the damn flip flops in the closet.”

“Gonna need a pic of you wearing those too,” she called over her shoulder as she headed on. “With a big floppy hat.”

“In your dreams,” he teased, mentally cursing himself for not buying a big floppy hat.

Once she was gone, Dean went to Sam’s room. “Like I would forget the flops,” he quietly scoffed. He knocked lightly and opened the door when there was no response.

He felt dirty, but he wanted to make sure his brother hadn’t snuck home any demon blood. While he really wanted to believe Sam had successfully dried out by going cold turkey, Dean was a realist. There was every chance that things wouldn’t go that smoothly.

Dean had just finished digging through the pile of dirty clothes Sam had left by the closet when he heard the telling click of the door shutting. Whipping around with an apology on his lips, he felt his throat close when it wasn’t Sam staring back at him.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on or do we have to play a guessing game?”

He closed his gaping mouth and cleared his throat. “Kitty.”

Faith folded her arms and cocked a brow. “Ducky.”

“I…” Son of a bitch, he’d lasted nearly a week without getting stuck with the fuzzy end of the lollipop. “_Fuck._”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she kept an otherwise stony face. “I just want it on the record that you ain’t tellin’ me before I start guessin’.”

He’d promised Sam he wasn’t going to talk, but he’d also vowed that he wasn’t lying if she asked him directly. Maybe he was a gossip, but it felt pretty direct as she stared him down while he was red-handed and snooping. “Sam specifically asked me not to tell you anything, but I told him straight up I ain’t lyin’ to you either. Sammy got ahold of some demon blood and had a slip-up.”

Faith dropped her arms as her brows shot upward. “What? How?”

Dean shrugged. “Something about swiping it from Buffy during a hug. Truth was I was a little more focused on the what than the how.”

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Faith snapped.

“Sorry,” he said, immediately regretting quipping with her when he was on thin ice.

“Damn right you’re sorry,” she huffed. Placing her hands on her hips, she sighed. “You really didn’t tell me?”

He winced. “I _wanted_ to! It was a stupid promise, but we got to thinkin’ about the stupid Watchers Council and Men of Letters and him losing his job and it just seemed easier to let him go off and dry himself out quietly. And while _I _know you would be on the DL, Sammy was all embarrassed and nervous about letting you in.”

Her face was unreadable to him in a way that got his heart racing in the bad way. Starting off their vacation with a fight was not at all on his itinerary. “Kitty?” His voice was an octave higher than normal.

“I get it…I guess,” she said at last with an eye roll. “Not that it ain’t dumb—”

“Totally,” he added with a vigorous nod.

She rewarded him with a smirk and the tightening in his chest eased. “I love you,” he quickly said for good measure.

There was another eye roll. “You can’t keep using that whenever you’re in trouble, Ducky.”

He flashed her one of his prized panty-wetting smiles. “Don’t fix what ain’t broke, baby.”

She snickered and shook her head. “Let’s just hurry up and case the joint for any secret stashes.”

“Again with the I love you,” he said earnestly. True love was with a girlfriend who would help you violate your brother’s privacy.

It only took a couple of minutes to determine that Sammy had been good enough not to bring any blood home with him. Dean just hoped it would be a clean inspection when he snooped again in a couple of weeks. “So?” he said at last.

“So?” Faith said in kind.

“Wanna run away to the beach with me?”

“I didn’t paint my toenails for nothin’, sweet-cheeks.”

He tossed her a grin. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see the man standing in front of the door. Faith let out a throaty gasp. “Fucking A,” she said with her next breath.

“What the hell?” Dean bellowed.

“Funny,” Chuck said dryly. “Yeah, never got the ‘what the hell’ line,” he said sarcastically.

“I don’t get it,” Faith said looking from God to Dean and back. “Is this a thing? Like was I not on the visitation list until I kicked it last time? You gotta die twice to get up Chucked?”

Dean wasn’t sure so he turned to the guy for an explanation. “Why _are_ you here?” His eyes widened with horror. “Did you and Amara—”

“No,” Chuck said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Amara’s cool. She’s taking a brief vacay in Reno—with a weird Keno fetish.” He shook his head. “She says hi,” he added with an awkward smile at Dean. “She’s…well, _happy_ is a strong word. She’s…_content_ knowing you’re getting on without her. She wasn’t in love with you, but might’ve mentioned an interest in trying you out in the carnal fashion once or twice.”

“Who’s Amara?” Faith asked and Dean couldn’t help the heady rush at hearing the little jealous twinge in her voice.

“His sister,” Dean said lowly with a heavy dose of awkwardness.

“His—_God’s—_sister?” She turned her focus all to Dean. “You were hung up on my ex, but your last go round was with a fucking _goddess_?”

“We never boned!” he said defensively. “And we never…” This was weird. “Look, it was all tied to the Mark. I accidentally freed her when it was removed.”

Faith’s mouth made a perfect circle and it said bad things that he immediately thought about his dick between her lips. “Oh,” she said understanding. “That was Amara—the Darkness.”

“Looky there,” Chuck said in a chipper voice. “You two with all the sharing and talking. Isn’t it adorable how you two went from two totally dysfunctional individuals to a power couple in like thirty seconds flat? I really want to take credit on this one.” He gestured his hands at them.

Something dark and dirty entered Dean’s mind and he hated how it settled a ball of unease in his gut. “Did…” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Did you kill Faith to just set us up?” He couldn’t look at her when he asked a follow-up. “Is everything we did—everything we _feel_—just another fucking book to you?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Chuck said hastily. He looked at the couple and released a deep sigh before snapping his fingers.

“The fuck?” Dean said a second later as he went from standing in Sam’s bedroom to sitting on a stool at the bar in Rosa Lee’s. Glancing left, he noted Faith beside him and similarly confused.

“This seemed a more comfortable setting for a bit of a storytime,” Chuck said from across the bar. “Drink?”

“What story?” Faith demanded just before Dean could order a shot.

“Well, before I explain about you two, I should give a little exposition. I would have sooner, but you two really don’t waste alone time with clothes on.”

“Oh, god,” Faith said in mortification.

Chuck pointed at her with a wink. “Yeah, people use that a lot—hence the name Chuck.”

Dean imagined Chuck sitting around watching him and Kitty getting nasty. “Oh, god,” he muttered in horror.

“Point made,” Chuck said quickly. “Back to me—I created different orders of angels to handle different aspects of humanity.” He nodded at Dean. “You’ve met a few kinds along the years.”

Dean looked to Faith. “And almost all are dicks.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “The ones I’m talking about are what you most likely know of as Cupids—that’s the Roman name, but whatever.”

“Naked dicks,” Dean replied.

Chuck gave him a look. “Yeah, I never asked for that and not sure where it came from. I didn’t ask questions because love was pretty low on my priority list.”

“God doesn’t love?” Faith furrowed her brow. “What was all that shit about Jesus and loving the world by sacrificing your only begotten son?” She looked at Dean and shrugged at his surprised reaction. “Like I never went to Sunday school once? Bite me.”

“Not love as a concept,” Chuck explained. “I’m talking the romantic kind of love—the little hearts and valentine kind of love. Wasn’t a big deal to me so I delegated.”

Dean thought he saw where this was going. “So a Cupid gave Fay and me the love arrows?” He looked to her. “Does that count as a spell?”

“I hope not ’cause I ain’t giving Sammy any credit.”

Chuck cleared his throat and Dean saw the irritation in his eyes when he looked at the deity. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Cupids do that kind of thing, but their leader—Jedediah—is charged with another task. Throughout history, he selects certain people he sees as perfect matches. Unfortunately, a lot of the time, the two never even connect until Heaven—premature death is the biggest factor. Sometimes life events happen and they end up on opposite sides of the world.” He paused and gave them both pointed looks. “No witty comments?”

“Do you want one?” Faith asked.

“No,” he said before continuing. “Anyway, I had gotten word that a slayer was about to come upstairs.” Chuck looked to Faith with a small smile. “Here’s your cue—except I wasn’t sure yet if it would be you or Rosalie. Either way, I wanted to be there to greet one of my VIPs. I dibbed you guys the Chosen for a reason.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m—”

“Slow learner,” Chuck said cutting him off. “Ducky? Totally cute, but shut up.” God sighed and found his thought. “I was watching that night in the cemetery and recognized it after it was all too late.”

“Recognized what?” Faith demanded.

Chuck released a soft chuckle. “Have either of you thought about how in all the chaos going on you two managed to find each other? How the last thing you saw was him and how every night she haunted your dreams?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “You?”

“No!” Chuck cried in exasperation. “Wrong, Ducky! Not me—Jed.”

Dean heard Faith expel a shaky breath. “So you’re sayin’ Dean and I are those perfect match couples?”

Chuck’s face split into a broad grin. “The technical term is _soulmates_.”

Dean really didn’t give a fuck—Faith and God obviously knew he was slow. “That’s really a thing? Like an actual real thing?”

Chuck nodded. “The best way to describe it to you two would be with vampire mates. Minus the blood-sharing obviously.” He shuddered. “So gross.”

“Wait,” Faith said, holding up her hand. “Mates are chosen, not assigned. Plus, there’s some real bad that comes from the package.”

Dean couldn’t help but feel offended. “You wouldn’t choose me?”

Faith tossed him a quick look. “Of course I would! But now we don’t know if it’s because I want to or Jed made it so.”

His head was starting to hurt. “Is there a way to break it and see if we still love each other?”

Faith nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” she said before turning to Chuck. “Break the spell and let us do it naturally.”

Chuck once again looked irritated. “One, no, I don’t break them. Two, I created nature so soulmates are natural—extremely rare like slayers—but natural. Third, you two are missing the bigger point.”

Dean was not missing the bigger point, but he had questions. “That mean our lives depend on the other surviving?” He cast a wary glance to his soulmate. “No pressure or anything, right?”

“More your souls,” Chuck explained. “Kinda complicated and isn’t a big deal unless you die prematurely. Your soul slowly dies over time until you end up dying in the flesh.” When he saw he hadn’t gotten a happy reaction, he produced a weak smile. “You reunite in Heaven—as long as you both make it—and all’s well for eternity.”

“We die! A lot!” Dean balked.

Chuck nodded. “Yeah, just make sure it doesn’t stick. A year or two at the most and shit hits the fan.” He shrugged. “There’s cool perks!”

“What?” Faith demanded.

“Well, you are pretty much guaranteed to never worry about infidelity,” he said with a boastful nod. “Pretty cool since we all saw the Lucifer scheme, right?”

“You _saw_ it?” Faith balked. “And you never said anything to Dean or me to _stop_ it?” Dean snatched her arm as he felt her about to pounce across the bar to throw a punch at God.

“Nope,” Dean said quickly as he squeezed her. “Retract the claws, Kitty.”

Chuck nervously giggled. “There’s more! You two have the ability to feel each other’s thoughts and emotions.”

That confused Dean. “Feel thoughts?”

“Yeah. You can’t hear exactly what the words are, but you can understand enough to know. Not perfectly and not all the time, but way more than any average couple.”

Dean thought about their high-fives—especially the one they’d shared when he’d been rescued from the box—and had to smile. He looked to find Faith smirking with her palm out facing him. He smacked her hand with fervor.

“See! I had to bring you back—moments like that are awesome,” Chuck said with glee. Then he shook his head at Faith and dropped the smile. “And all the other important stuff coming up, obviously. I didn’t bring you back just for Dean.”

“Important stuff?” Faith asked hesitantly. “We get deets on that too?”

“Sorry,” Chuck said slowly. “Even if I wanted to, I really don’t know what all is up ahead. Events depend on a lot of actions out of my control—whether someone dies, when you have your child, whether someone or something alters the universe is a major way… Things I can’t generally predict.”

Faith burst out laughing. “When? How about not?”

“Huh?” Dean said in proof the mind-meld was indeed imperfect.

She turned to him and scoffed. “I ain’t birthin’ no babies. Pretty sure we agreed on that.”

“Oh,” he said in understanding. Then it really dawned on him. “Oh!” Dean turned to Chuck. “Oh, hell no!”

“Mary has a similar reaction,” Chuck admitted. “That one I do have some power in.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “If you immaculately concept me, I will methodically abort me. You got that, Chuck?”

Dean was a mixture of nervous that Faith was smack talking fucking God and super turned on that his Kitty had the lady balls to smack talk fucking God. He’d let her wear all the pants in his family.

Chuck rolled his eyes. “No babies are on the horizon. I was just listing potential events that shift and alter events enough to create your timeline. Which means I can’t tell you the important stuff you have left to face. But considering the blatantly obvious, shit will go down. Crazy things happen while you’re saving the world, right?”

Dean and Faith snorted in unison. That was possibly God’s biggest understatement. “So what does this all mean?” Dean questioned. “We’re not a crime-fighting duo?”

“It means you’re each other’s greatest strength and biggest weakness.”

Well, that was heady as fuck, Dean thought to himself. Judging by Faith’s silence, she was trying to comprehend the full implications as well.

“We shouldn’t tell people,” she said lowly after several moments.

“Probably not,” Chuck agreed quietly. “Would be pretty easy to devise a way to get to you through him.” He looked to Dean. “And vice versa. Which would be a real pain in the ass. Plus it kinda gives you guys a ton of pressure—everybody assuming you two are gonna be happy and loving with each other all the time.”

“We can be happy and loving all the time,” Dean quipped defensively.

Chuck began snickering uncontrollably. “You two literally get aroused by fighting—which is weird, but whatever. Plus you two are some dark souls—way more anger and hate than happy—which works for you, but not everyone’s gonna get that. Hence what I said about the pressure.”

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly as it all started making sense on why someone wouldn’t advertise they’d found their soulmate.

“Cool,” Chuck said as he looked at them and deemed the conversation over. “Now I gotta go pry my sister away from the Keno. There’s a galaxy I really want to show her.”

“That’s it?” Faith practically shouted. “You pop us here out of the blue to drop some fucking Hiroshima-sized truth bombs and then you leave?”

Chuck blinked. “What did you expect?”

“Maybe some fucking guidance, you omnipotent blowhard!”

Dean thought he might be getting an erection to the moment his soulmate got smited.

Luckily, Chuck didn’t seem too upset with his VIP. “I’m God, Faith Lehane. Not Captain Obvious.” He then looked to Dean with a wink before bringing up a hand and snapping his fingers.

Dean opened his eyes from a blink to find himself staring at the wheel of his Baby. Flicking his gaze through the windshield, he jumped in surprise. They were sitting outside some unfamiliar diner. “Whaaa?” he squawked.

“I really fucking hate how angels and demons can do that whacky magic shit,” Faith huffed.

Dean turned to look her straight in the eyes. “You okay?”

Faith seemed startled by the question. “Yeah, are you? He hurt you in the snap?”

Dean couldn’t help his crooked smile. “I meant if you were okay with everything he said back there?”

“Oh,” she said as her eyes fluttered downward. He kept his gaze until she glanced up with flushed cheeks. “Well, it was definitely overwhelming and scary as fuck and totally unreal in a real sorta way. Right?”

His smile faltered and Dean began to panic. It was scary as fuck and a whole load of shit and responsibility that neither one of them needed. Plus, he was starting to worry that Chuck wasn’t joking about that baby crack.

“What I mean,” Faith continued, “is yeah.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked and held his breath in response.

“I mean that I’m okay with it. The whole deal about the cemetery and how you were the last thing I saw when I went and the first thing I saw when I came back.” She wiggled slightly. “Plus you said you’d dreamed about me—which was your soul dying, I guess. Explains why you were the world’s biggest douche until I showed up.”

Dean scoffed. “Douche? I was a fucking delight.”

Faith cackled. “You’ve never been a fucking delight and I have several eyewitness accounts of your douchiness—Buffy, Spike, Ro, Nicky, Dawn, Sam, Giles—”

“Enough,” Dean snapped.

“I wasn’t done, but whatever,” Faith bit back with a smirk. “Point is, it all kinda makes sense and I don’t think I’d change it if I could.”

Dean’s throat tightened. “Me too,” he choked out. He felt his eyes begin to sting and turned away before he got too sappy. Looking out at the diner, he read the sign in the window. “Hey!” he called out. “They have the best pie in Arizona! Son of a bitch, that’s awesome.”

Faith sniffed then delivered a hearty laugh. “Come on, Ducky.” She opened the door without awaiting a response.

“I love you,” Dean said with nothing but sincerity.

“I know,” she said with a wink before getting out.

As he scrambled after her, Dean accepted that Jed wasn’t going down as a dick in his book. For once, Fate had gotten something right.


End file.
